Love Me Dead
by kirarose
Summary: I miss you, he had said. She found herself wishing that those words actually meant anything at all. But they didn't. And nothing that he said to her ever would because he was Malfoy - terrible, awful, heartless Malfoy. But she loved him anyway.
1. The Blame Game

**Chapter One - The Blame Game**

She decided that it was all to be blamed on stress. Stress was the ridiculous force that had driven her to tiptoe down that goddamned hallway to stand in front of his door for the first time. It had been ten days since then. She hadn't even had the presence of mind to pull on any pajama pants this time, either. So she found herself standing there, in the hallway, having already knocked on his door, for the tenth time in ten days, for some Merlin-forsaken reason, in her black lacey knickers and a tank top no less.

As she stood there, contemplating scurrying right back down the hallway to her own bedroom, her heart raced just as furiously as it had the first night. Her mind flooded with emotions and doubts as each second passed. It had never taken him this goddamn long before, had it? Merlin's fucking ass she felt like such a dumb twat. Just because he had opened the door on those other nights didn't mean that-

"'Mione?" a hushed voice asked from the other side of the door.

"Erm," she said. Her throat felt odd and her voice sounded strange and scratchy. It was all of the stress, she was sure. "Erm, yeah. Sorry I just-"

The door opened then, and they simply stood facing each other for a few moments. She watched self-consciously as he took in her attire, a lopsided grin pulling up the corners of his mouth. "I think you forgot your pants, Herms," he whispered, chuckling.

"I'm sorry," she said, running her hand through her hair. "I really shouldn't be doing this again. And I really should at least have pants on. I'm sorry. Sorry. I'm just going to go back to-"

"Oh the hell you are." He reached out and took her arm, pulling her against his chest before shutting his bedroom door. "It's late. I thought you'd forgotten about me."

She simply nodded since she was a bit too distracted by how good he smelled. Why did he always smell so fantastic? She wanted to slap herself for doing this at all. It was so ridiculous that it had even happened once, let alone thirty times. She glanced up at his face, reaching up to brush a lock of his dark, disheveled hair out of his eyes before she could stop herself.

"D'you want to sit down?" he offered, glancing over his shoulder at the bed. She bit her lip, knowing that she should say no. The proper thing to do would be to march her barely clothed ass right back out of his bedroom and down the hall into her room. She was taking advantage of him and it was blatant. She really ought to be ashamed of herself. When her eyes flicked up to make contact with his, though, she knew that she would not be leaving any time soon. She nodded again and let him slid his fingers into hers and lead her over to the bed. She was taking advantage of him, but he was using her as well.

They made quite the fucked up pair of friends, that was for sure.

"I'm really sorry," she mumbled again, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them tightly. "I couldn't sleep."

"I was having a bit of trouble myself," he said. She cursed the moon, then, for bouncing off of the muscles in his shoulder in such a flattering way. Not that he wasn't good looking without the moon bouncing off of him, mind you. It just seemed to be making it even worse because for some reason it reminded her of -

No. She would not think about _him_. She was here, in fact, to forget about _him_.

"I think that we should maybe talk about this," she said.

"Or maybe we could just not," he shrugged. "Unless you want to get more… serious or something, I suppose."

"No," she answered, far too quickly. She took a breath and exhaled before repeating, more calmly, "no, I don't."

His green eyes were clearly amused by this ridiculous inner battle that she was dealing with. "If you don't want to-"

"That's the problem, see," she said, chewing her lip again. "I do. Merlin I'm so confused. This makes no sense. You know that right? You know how wonky this whole thing is?"

"It's not wonky," he shrugged. "You're attractive, I'm attractive, we've known each other for years now. We're shut up together in a house-"

"With the girl that you're in love with," she inserted.

"Who I can't have," he countered, laying back on the bed and tugging her down with him. "And you're spending the entire summer away from everything and trying to forget whatever mystery boy it is that you can't have. It's not wonky, 'Mione. It makes sense. This is what friends do, right? They comfort each other."

"I'm pretty sure that what we've done goes far beyond normal friendship," she insisted, glancing down at his hand resting on her hip.

"You say potato…" he said, pulling her body against his, that same lopsided grin playing at his lips as he leaned in for a kiss. She found herself reeling for a moment as the reality of the situation hit her, as it had the last nine times that he had started kissing her. She was laying on her best friends bed - her best friend who she had always viewed as a brother - in her black lacey knickers, helping him pull her shirt off, and moaning into his mouth.

She, Hermione Granger, was going to have sex with Harry Potter.

Again.

Oh, Merlin.

* * *

He twisted their legs together afterwards, holding her close and kissing the top of her head as their breathing evened out again. He was certainly an attentive and sweet lover. She would certainly give him credit for that. It was quite humorous that she had turned to Harry after… well, after everything that had happened. He was quite the opposite of _him_. That was for sure.

"Is it just me or does that get better every time?" he murmured into her hair.

"That was an especially nice move there at the end," she complimented, turning her face up and kissing the underside of his chin before flatting her cheek against his skin again. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

"Thank you, Head Girl Granger."

"You're welcome, Head Boy Potter."

"Who would have thought, eh?" he asked, chuckling. "I mean, we all knew you'd be a Head, but me? That was certainly the surprise of the year."

"I won't lie," she confessed, "I thought it would be that funny-looking boy from Hufflepuff."

"Oh, right," Harry said, nodding in agreement. "Never could remember his name."

"I wish we could go back," she said, feeling her throat tighten in an uninvited way.

"Me too," he whispered, rubbing her back.

"When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow sounds as good as anytime. We can pack everything into that nifty little bag of yours so that we can keep doing research along the way. I wish he could have left us more information about those damn horcruxes. It's going to be a headache to figure it all out."

"Are you going to tell her?"

Harry was silent for several long seconds after her question before answering with a quiet but confident, "no."

"Harry," she chided gently. Everyone in the entirety of Hogwarts knew that Harry loved Ginny. Everyone but Ginny, of course. Hermione couldn't fathom how her best girlfriend didn't know. Harry had always been far from smooth and subtle and Hermione had pointed out his actions to the redheaded girl several times. But Ginny had fallen head over heels for Dean and not given Harry a second glance.

"She's happy, Herms," Harry insisted. "She loves him and everyone knows it. That bloody diamond on her finger is more than enough proof."

"It's just a silly promise ring," Hermione protested. "They're only sixteen."

"And we're only seventeen. A lot can change over time, but I'm not going to sit around sulking while I wait for it."

"I still think you should at least tell her goodbye."

"Are you going to?"

Hermione sighed in annoyance.

"Check mate," Harry said, flipping her over abruptly and grinning down at her. "Enough of this serious talk. Are you tired enough to sleep yet?"

"Are y-oh!" she squealed, squirming in his arms and giggling as he nipped at a particularly sensitive part of her neck. She moved to counter his attack but was stopped by a searing pain in her right arm. "Holy fuck," she hissed, her eyes tearing up.

"Herms?" Harry asked, immediately concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Merlin it hurts," she grimaced, grasping at her arm as the pain intensified. It felt like her entire forearm was on fire and the sensation was slowly creeping further up her arm. There was nothing there, though. There was only one reason that this would be happening. "I need to get up," she told Harry, urgently. "I think I might be sick."

Harry moved off of her quickly, watching nervously as she pulled her clothes back on. When she darted for the door, hand over her mouth, he rushed after her down the hallway to the bathroom, flipping the light on for her and managing to pull her hair back before she heaved over the toilet. The pain did not let up as she wiped her mouth off with a piece of toilet paper.

"Harry, do you trust me?" she asked, wincing as the pain suddenly shot up past her shoulder.

"Of course."

"I need to go somewhere," she said. "I swear to you I'll be back by morning."

"You're sick, though," he protested.

"I know," she nodded. "I need to go, though. It's the only way to stop the pain. It's… it's complicated, Harry. I can't explain it - not allowed - but I really need to go."

"Ok. Ok," he nodded back. "I trust you."

"I love you," she said, leaning forward to hug him with her good arm. "I'm going to be just fine, I promise. It's nothing serious, I just need to -" she winced at another jolt of pain as she stood up. "Just need to go."

"I love you, too," he answered. She looked back at him then, pausing just long enough to look into his worried eyes before leaving him sitting there on the bathroom floor squinting after her retreating form.

* * *

She threw up again in a bush next to where she had apparated and used her wand to clean out her mouth. She took a few steps before regaining the presence of mind to conjure a pair of shorts over her underwear. It was a warm summer night but she had little time to enjoy it. After a few minutes of brisk walking she had reached the all too familiar door and opened it.

He was standing so close to the doorway that she nearly stalked right into him. His arrogance never failed to impress her. He knew she would come, the bastard. He'd been standing in the bloody doorway waiting for her. He reached one long arm over her shoulder to push the door shut as she glared up at him, trying as hard as she possibly could to hate every single inch of him all at once.

And she did hate him. She hated his damn blonde hair and his damn cold, empty, blue eyes. She hated his high cheekbones and the lines of his jaw. She hated his lips. He was such a conniving bastard, Malfoy was, and she hated him for it.

Hated him for asking her to care. He knew that she would come. That's why he had cursed her in the first place, wasn't it? Because if Hermione Granger was anything, she was dependable.

"I'm sorry," he said, shifting his weight awkwardly and cradling his left arm protectively.

"So am I," she sighed, running a hand through her hair before reaching out to take his arm and examine the damage. "So am I."

* * *

"You didn't fucking need me here at all, Malfoy," she growled a few minutes later, dropping his arm. He winced and pulled it back up against his ribs again. "You know damn well that I can't do anything to heal this."

"Can't I just call you because I need you?" he asked, sounding uncharacteristically weak.

"No," she scoffed, "you can't."

"Obviously I can," he sneered. "You came."

"Yeah, because it felt like my entire goddamn arm was on fire," she spat. "It's not as if you didn't ask for this to happen."

"So if I'd just broken my arm you wouldn't be as pissed about being here?"

"Obviously not. I can fix a broken arm. I can't fix this stupid mistake."

"I didn't have a choice, alright?" He towered over her menacingly but she didn't flinch.

"You always have a choice," she said.

"So what if I just…" he trailed off, holding her gaze with his sad, pleading eyes.

"What if you what?" she growled. "I don't have time for this, Malfoy, so you'd better spit it out."

"Why don't you have time?" he asked. "Got to run back to Weasel's bed? Can't stand to be away from the redheaded fuckup, can you?"

"Ah, there you are again," she said, silently amused by just how far off he was about whose bed she had been sleeping in. She was glad that he was angry and sadistic again, though. He was so much easier to hate when he was being himself. She couldn't stand him when he was vulnerable. He was worst when he was like that. "I need you to listen to everything I say right now because I will not be repeating myself."

"I don't want to hear about your sex life with the Weasel," he said, smirking proudly at his joke.

"I'm leaving in a few hours," she said, ignoring him. "I can't tell you where I'm going or what I'm doing but you need to know that you're on your on your own until I get everything all sorted out. I can't just go apparating around to wipe up your blood anymore, Malfoy. I've run out of time and patience. Understood?"

"Fuck no," he growled, outraged. "What if I need you?"

"Find someone else to care," she shrugged. "You're not my problem anymore." She turned for the door then. She had just placed her hand on the rusty handle when she felt his hand on her shoulder. She fought hard against the urge to turn back to him. It would be so easy to do, wouldn't it? All she had to do was pivot. He was right there with his damned arms and torso - every inch of what she'd been missing. She could have him if she'd just turn around.

"Granger," he said. The fight had gone from his voice. "You can't leave me right now."

"I can, actually," she said, turning the handle and refusing to give in. If she turned around, he would be hers. But only for a fleeting moment. After that, it would be exactly as it had been before. He was a bastard and they both knew it and she couldn't stand around and wait for him to change anymore.

He would never change.

"Granger, I…"

"You what, Malfoy?" she asked, deflated.

"I've… I miss you."

"It's too late for that." She willed herself not to look back at him as she pulled the door open and slid through the crack.

She managed to apparate herself back before she completely broke down, stumbling against the outside of Grimmauld Place and sliding weakly down to the ground. It seemed to always end like this with him: an apology or admittance just a few moments too late that left her marching strongly away only to collapse into a pathetic sobbing mess.

She wanted to hit him sometimes for being such an arrogant prick. Sometimes - some of the darker times - she wished that he was dead. But she always ended up feeling guilty for those thoughts because, at the end of the day, he was still a human being. He wasn't in deep enough to have lost his humanity and they both knew it.

She wiped away a tear as his words echoed through her head again. _I miss you_. She found herself wishing that those words actually meant anything. But they didn't. And nothing that he said to her would because he was Malfoy - terrible, awful, heartless Malfoy.

But she loved him anyway.

* * *

Almost thirty minutes later she walked shakily back into the house and up the stairs, glancing sideways at her bedroom door as she passed it and stopped in front of Harry's instead. She didn't knock this time - didn't want to wake him up - and was sliding under his covers just moments later. She laid on her side, wiping away one last tear as he woke up just enough to pull her small body up against his, wrapping one arm around her waist and warming her instantly.

Maybe it was wrong to keep running to Harry, but it was exactly as he had said earlier: this is what friends do. They comfort each other. After all that they had been through the last year, after Dumbledore's death and the impending war, they certainly needed comforting. Harry was heartbroken over Ginny and Hermione could never seem to catch a break with Malfoy. He'd been bothering her for longer than she cared to admit, causing her endless amounts of stress.

It could be easily and accurately stated, then, that it had been Draco Malfoy - and not stress - that had pushed Hermione Granger into Harry Potter's bed ten days ago. She silently - guiltily - found herself thanking Ginny and Dean for being so obnoxiously in love.

It was so much easier to be heartbroken when your best friend was, too.

**A/N**

**I can assure that this story is certainly Draco/Hermione. I've always kind of liked Harry/Hermione, too, though, so he will definitely be a prominent character, as well. Hopefully you enjoyed this :) I promise I'm not going to stop writing my other story ("Can You Keep a Secret") but hopefully getting this story out, too, will help me to finish the other one. Hopefully. The title of the story is a reference to the song "Love Me Dead" by Ludo. I felt it quite fitting. :)**

**Feedback would be loverly!**


	2. A Terrible Day For A Wedding

A/N

So, after thinking through my planned plot for this story, I need to make a minor adjustment in the first chapter and change the location where Harry and Hermione are currently staying from Grimmauld Place to the Weasley's. I plan on staying somewhat close to the seventh book's plot while the trio is off searching for horcruxes but I mistakenly thought that they were already at Grimmauld Place at this point when, in fact, they are not supposed to have gone there yet. So, my apologies for that (:

Also, I hope it's not too confusing that I am mixing in scenes from the past in this chapter. I hate italicizing things, so I tried to make it very obvious that they are recollections of past events. If you find it confusing, though, let me know and I'll fix it.

If you haven't already, you should definitely check out my other story :D

Enjoy this new chapter and review, review, review :D

**Chapter Two - A Terrible Day For A Wedding**

Draco Malfoy had been locked in a safe house for months now and he had made his dissatisfaction with his current housing arrangements very clear to anyone he came in contact with. Unfortunately for Hermione, she and Snape were the only two people he had seen since his embarrassing malfunction in the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts. Just after that encounter - after Snape had fulfilled the duties of his Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa by killing Hogwart's Headmaster - was when Hermione had gotten tangled up in everything.

She remembered every detail of that night clearly. She had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She hadn't even been paying attention to what was happening when Snape had pushed his way out of the door to the Astronomy Tower. He had pulled Draco behind him, a fistful of the blonde's school uniform grasped in his white knuckled hand.

She had been reading a book when they breezed past her.

Snape was muttering something under his breath but stopped mid-sentence and turned his icy stare to Hermione. "Miss Granger," he had drawled, walking towards her and leaving a shaken Draco to stand by himself. "How convenient of you to be here, eavesdropping on my personal conversation."

"Perhaps next time," she spoke, "you shouldn't hold such personal conversations in public, Professor." She had never much liked Snape and his bad mood tonight was doing nothing to reverse her opinions of him.

"Do you follow instructions as well as you mock professors, Miss Granger?" he asked.

"Of course," she scoffed. "If the instructions are reasonable."

"Good." He grabbed her arm, yanking it towards him roughly and placing a piece of crumpled up parchment in his hand. His fingers pressed hard into her arm. "There's a portkey inside of this paper. Take Draco with you and wait for me."

"Oh-okay," she nodded, pressing the parchment tight against her palm. She breathed out shakily as he released her arm and stepped away.

"Go with her, boy," Snape hissed condescendingly at Draco.

"But Professor," Draco said, all but whimpering. Hermione watched the interaction curiously.

"How could you dare to disobey me after all that I've done for you?" Snape crossed quickly to the blonde boy, eyes dark with anger. "You will go with her and you will not move until I arrive. Am I understood?"

Draco's response was too quiet for her to make out. Snape walked briskly away from them afterwards, though, pausing at the end of the hallway to warn, "do not try to open the door, Miss Granger. The consequences will not be pleasant," before disappearing around the corner.

"I feel like I'm missing a lot of information," Hermione murmured, looking down at the package in her hand.

"He's told you everything you need to know, Granger," Draco snarled, walking towards her. "You don't always have to know it all."

"Why should I go anywhere with you? Or trust him?"

"For such a goody-two-shoes you're being really difficult about showing compassion," he sighed, running his hand through his ruffled blonde hair. She had never seen Malfoy this flustered before. The wall he usually hid his emotions behind seemed to have a few holes in it today. He seemed to have a decent hold on his composure now, but a second ago she would have sworn she saw tears gathering in his eyes. She knew that something terrible must have happened for him to be this unhinged.

"Do I have your word that you won't hurt me?" she asked.

"Does my word mean anything to you?" he replied.

"If I'm going to help you, I need to trust that you are not a danger to my well being."

"It's not something you should be concerned about, Granger," he said, laughing a terribly empty laugh. "I couldn't even kill a sickly old man, let alone someone who was strong enough to fight back."

"What does that-"

"It's none of your business," he growled. "Now, are we going to get out of here or not?"

She eyed him for a moment, taking in the signs of stress written all over his face. They both knew that she was not going to say no to him - not when he so blatantly needed her. In the end, it was part curiosity and part sympathy that caused her to unwrap the portkey and be pulled into the unknown with Malfoy.

* * *

Hermione slept much later than she had intended to and was unable to slip quietly out of Harry's room before everyone woke up. When she finally did rouse at nearly eight a.m., she was still curled up against her snoring best friend. He pulled her closer when she tried to wiggle free of his arm and she sighed. With all of the Weasley's and guests that were in this house - for Fleur and Bill's wedding - there would certainly be someone to view her walk of shame down the stairs and back to the room she was sharing with Ginny and two other girls. The girls would have certainly noticed her absence and would be grilling her about it as soon as they found her.

She wiggled around again and managed to turn over so that she was facing him. Harry had originally been sharing a tiny room in the attic with Bill, but Bill had snuck off to sleep in Fleur's bed - in Hermione's room - every single night. That meant that Harry wound up being the only person in the entire household who did not have to share a room with anyone else. Until Hermione had come along and started intruding on his sleep, of course.

Not that he minded. He had assured her of that the third night that she stayed.

"Harry," she said, reaching her un-trapped arm up to tousle his hair. "Harry, it's eight in the morning. We need to get up and pack everything."

"Not 'til nine," he murmured, hooking one of his legs around hers.

"Harry, I need to get up," she rephrased. "I slept here all night. Someone will notice."

"What are you on about?"

"It's already eight," she repeated. "I forgot to sneak back into my room, so I need to go now. We've got to pack and go to the wedding, remember?"

"Who cares that you're in my room?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. "Just tell them we couldn't sleep so we stayed up late talking. We're best friends, 'Mione. It's not like you've never slept in the same bed as me."

"You're right, you're right," she nodded, exhaling deeply. "I'm just so paranoid about someone finding out about… this."

"It wouldn't be the end of the world, would it? To be found out for sleeping with me?"

"Merlin, Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." She wanted to slap herself. "Any girl would be lucky to have you."

"Although Ron would be quite pissed if he found out we were shagging," Harry pointed out.

"Ron? He's with Lavender, isn't he?"

"She's just a fling. You know he's always fancied you."

"An eight month long fling?" Hermione countered. "And I don't fancy him back, so it's a moot point anyway."

"He's only seventeen," Harry shrugged. "Maybe she's a good lay. She does have really big-"

"Shut up!" she pushed her fingers into her ears. "I do not want to hear anyone else talking about Lavender's breasts. Everyone understands that they are large and wonderful or whatever, but that doesn't mean that they should be discussed every single day."

"Jealous, are we?" he raised his eyebrows. "If it makes you feel any better, yours are perfectly adequate."

"Adequate? They're adequate?" she scoffed, finally freeing herself of his grip and getting off of the bed. He hadn't meant to at all, but he had struck a nerve, jerking her back into an unwanted memory from months ago. Malfoy had once described her as adequate. He had been trying to rile her up, too, and he had succeeded. It was one of the few times that they had joked together. She had enjoyed his company that day and…

She pushed the thought away. It was bad to think about him at all, but it was even worse to remember any of the few happy memories of him. She walked towards Harry's door, barely making it before he turned her around to face him, chuckling as he backed her gently up against the wall. She concentrated on remembering this moment, instead, pretending that she could simply rewind and re-record over Malfoy entirely.

"Your breasts are wonderful," Harry said, kissing her jawbone.

"You're just saying that because they're the only breasts you've got a chance at seeing any time soon, what with our grand plans to go searching for horcruxes and whatnot."

"We could go back to bed for another half hour, Herms," he said, lining his forehead up with hers and rubbing her lower back. "Nothing's going to be the same after we leave tonight."

"I'll miss this," she admitted, biting her lip. "It's been nice to have someone to sleep next to."

"Who says we have to stop?" he asked.

"We'll be sharing a tent with Ron, Harry."

"A huge tent, with separate bedrooms."

"And if he walks in?"

"He won't," Harry shrugged, kissing her. "And if he does, then we'll tell him the truth. You should really stop worrying so much, 'Mione. All you need to think about right now is if you want come back to bed with me or go downstairs for breakfast."

"You're ridiculous, Harry Potter," she told him, shaking her head.

"No more than you," he winked, locating a ticklish spot on her side. He won out a few minutes later and the pair stumbled back into his tiny bed, curled up together for a few more moments of peace before beginning their hectic day.

* * *

A week after blindly trusting Professor Snape and arriving by portkey in an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere with Draco Malfoy, Hermione had found herself traveling back to see the blonde-headed bastard. Snape had asked her to stay after potions class that day and, once everyone had left, he handed her a large, heavy bag.

"I presume this is your last class of the day, Miss Granger?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she nodded, struggling to hold the bag up.

"Good. I'll need you to take this to Mister Malfoy. I will not have time to visit him until later this week and he will certainly be in need of fresh clothes and new food."

"But Professor I-"

"You said you were not busy, correct?" Snape hissed.

"Yes, but I-"

"I want to make myself very clear, Miss Granger," he took a step closer to her and she stepped back a few inches. "By now I am sure you know precisely why I have placed the young Mister Malfoy in hiding." Hermione nodded and felt unwanted tears gathering again at the reminder of Dumbledore's death. "So, then, you understand the importance of keeping his location quiet and the amount of responsibility that I was forced to so haphazardly hand to you."

"Yes, sir," she whispered.

"We are the only two human beings on this entire planet who know of his whereabouts and, thus, the only two human beings capable of keeping him alive. As I'm sure you are already aware, I am currently balancing a tedious allegiance to both the Dark Lord himself and to the Order of the Phoenix all whilst still performing my teaching duties. Would you presume that a person in my position with my responsibilities would have enough time to add on the task of bringing food and clothing to a fugitive?"

"No, sir," she shook her head, still biting back tears.

"Are you capable of fulfilling this task for me, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well," he took a step back and turned to his desk. She let out a deep, shaky breath that she had not remembered holding. "He will not be expecting anyone, so be prepared for any adverse reactions he may have. I trust that you are skilled enough with your wand to neutralize him if necessary. Do you have any further questions?"

"Just one, sir," she said. "How long will he be there?"

"As long as is necessary, Miss Granger," Snape responded. He turned to her again, fixing her with a serious stare, and asked, "are you willing to commit to the cause, Miss Granger? Or shall I appoint someone else."

"There's no need for that," she assured him, rising to his obvious challenge. She pulled out her wand and murmured a shrinking spell on the bag, slipping it into her school bag. "I will be needing another portkey, though."

The potions teacher watched her for a moment, a perplexing combination of emotions showing through his usually imperceptible eyes, before reaching into a drawer of his desk and producing another crumpled handful of parchment.

"You are of legal age to apparate now, are you not?" he asked, placing the parchment in her hand. She nodded. "I will owl you with the date and time of my next visit and apparate there with you. I don't have the time of patience to make another portkey."

"Ok," she answered. She stood there for a moment afterwards, not entirely sure what else to say, until Snape raised his eyebrow questioningly. She settled for a head-nod goodbye and hurried out of his office and down the hallway, allowing only one tear to fall before pulling herself back together again.

She would not know until weeks later just what she had gotten herself into.

* * *

Bill and Fleur's wedding had gone fantastically; it was during the reception, though, that everything had gone to shit. A Patronus belonging to Kingsley Shaklebolt arrived halfway through the festivities to inform the entire party about the death of Rufus Scrimgeour and about Lord Voldemort's newly gained control over the Ministry of Magic. Everyone was devastated - to say the least - and began to scurry around talking in panicked voices.

As unfortunate as the situation was, though, Hermione could not have imagined a more perfect moment for the Golden Trio to disappear for their adventure. They apparated just outside of 12 Grimmauld Place and were walking for the doorway when Hermione suddenly doubled over in pain. Ron's face went white when she puked into the bushes, but Harry hurried to her side.

"Again?" he whispered. "Hermione -"

"I'll kill him," she hissed under her breath, wiping at her mouth with the skirt of her dress.

"Kill who?" Harry asked. "V-volde-"

"No, no," she assured him, straightening again.

"You're really starting to worry me," Harry said.

"Yeah, er, me too," Ron spoke up, still white-faced and anxious. He looked as shaky as she felt.

"I would tell you if I could," she said to Harry, staring into his green eyes and begging him to understand.

"You made an Unbreakable Vow?" he asked. She shook her head. "No, right, you're smarter than that. Then you're under some kind of spell?"

"That I can't talk to you about," she said. "I'm really sorry, but I've really got to go. It's the only way to-"

"Make it stop," Harry finished. "I know, I know. You're going somewhere safe, right?"

"Yes," she said, though it was not entirely the truth. She reached up unconsciously to a scar on her side - hidden by the dress - that was more than enough proof of just how unsafe and unstable Malfoy could be. "I'll come back as soon as I can."

"We'll wait for you," Harry promised. She leaned into him as he hugged her tightly and whispered, "please don't get hurt." She hugged Ron, too, and then disapparated away from her two worried best friends.


	3. Don't Go Breakin' My Heart

**Chapter Three - Don't Go Breakin' My Heart**

He was on the couch this time. It was somewhat of an improvement since he was generally waiting in the doorway. She was just as annoyed with him as she had been during the wee hours of the morning, though. He didn't even turn to look at her when she slammed the door shut. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, long legs crossed one of the other and his hands resting on either side of his rib cage. He was wearing the jumper that he had stolen from her - the jumper that she had unintentionally stolen from Krum while she had been dating him - and a pair of dark jeans.

She crossed the room, opening a cupboard in the tiny excuse of a kitchen, pulling out a cup, and slamming the door shut. It was at that point that he finally acknowledged her presence.

"It was an accident," he informed her.

She rolled her eyes heavenward, gripping the cup in her hand as she took a deliberate breath in and out before moving to the sink and filling her cup. She drank every drop of the water and sat the cup on the counter before turning to face him. He had swung his legs off the side of the couch and was sitting up and watching her now, an unreadable expression on his face.

"An accident," she said, repeating his words.

"Force of habit," he rephrased.

"Perhaps 'a mistake' would be the correct way to put it."

"Not entirely," he argued. "Just because I didn't really intend to summon you here doesn't mean that it's a bad thing altogether."

"Well, then, perhaps I should work on being more terrible and undesirable to be around," she sneered. "I'll use you as a model for future behavior. Seriously, though, I thought I made it quite clear this morning that I do not have time for your games anymore. Scrimgeour is dead, the Dark Lord has taken over the Ministry, and I am currently supposed to be missing or undercover or whatever the hell you'd like to call it. I do not have time for your bullshit, Malfoy."

"Well, it was an accident," he repeated. "But not a mistake."

"You're horrid."

"You're a bitch," he shot back. "If you really want to play this game, then prepare to lose. I have countless hours every day to come up with insults."

"I am not playing a game," she assured him. "And if we were, you would lose points for such an unoriginal and bland retort. It's easy to call any woman a 'bitch.' Now, is there any actual reason that you called me here, or were you just being a bastard?"

"I told you already," he said, "that it was an accident."

"Oh, so you accidentally just happened to mutter the incantation?"

"Force of habit," he countered, again.

"So then you don't need me here," she surmised.

"I didn't say that."

"Then what do you want?"

He was across the room in two long strides, backing her up against the cabinets. "You know exactly what I want," he said, voice low and gruff. He placed one hand on either side of her and stared down at her. "Do you remember the first night you were here?" he asked, lightening his tone but not his stance.

"Hardly," she said. "I spent the entire time worrying about what you had done and what you were going to do to me."

The first part was a lie, of course. She would remember that night for the rest of her life.

* * *

The portkey had taken them, of course, to the cabin. It was not much of a cabin, though. It was a strange, but quaint, one room loft. There was one couch and one chair, arranged openly with a coffee table between them. Just past the couch there was a small dinning room table with just three chairs. Beyond that was the tiny kitchen, which was tucked neatly under a small-ish set of stairs. The kitchen was really just a sink set into a countertop with cupboards above and below, and so she had never really considered it much of a kitchen at all. She presumed - correctly - that there was a tiny kind of bedroom - which was just a mattress, a set of drawers, and a rack with seven hangers on it - at the top of the small-ish stairs.

In other words, there was not much to look at in the cabin and, thus, not much to distract her from the fact that she was currently trapped in a cabin in the middle of who-knows-where with Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy who had clearly done something bad enough to require being shut up in the aforementioned cabin. Her chances of survival seemed bleak, at best.

Malfoy had not looked around the cabin when they arrived. He chose instead to claim the chair - which seemed the more comfortable of the two pieces of furniture - and sit with his head in his hands. He stayed like that for nearly an hour, not moving, talking, or making any kind of noise, until Snape arrived.

The blonde boy stood, as if out of respect, when their professor entered the room. His arms were crossed over his abdomen, his body betraying his emotionless face. He looked like he was trying to hold himself together. She would never forget the way he had looked in that moment.

Snape had slid a portkey in her hand a moment later and though she was curious about what would transpire when she was gone, she found herself leaving anyway. She would not be a curiosity-killed cat this time.

* * *

Malfoy grimaced at her initial response. He clarified, "not that time," and shook his head. "I mean the first night you stayed."

"Of course you would bring that up," she said, clamping her teeth together and crossing her arms over her chest. That night, and several after it, were certainly not her proudest moments. "Are we done playing the memory game now? Can I go?"

"You can go whenever you want," he said. "You're not the one who's trapped here, remember?"

"Because I'm not the one who tried to kill the Headmaster," she shot back.

"So leave," he said, standing up straight so that his hands hung as his sides. That insult had lost it's power weeks ago and they both knew it. "No one's stopping you."

She stared up at him, past the fringe of his disheveled hair up into his calm, blue eyes. That was mistake number two of the night. Mistake number one had been coming here at all, of course. But she hadn't had a choice about that; the pain would have continued to spread all night, pulsing out from that point in her forearm - the place where a Dark Mark would lie if she had one - to every inch of the rest of her body until she could stand it no longer.

She knew that was what would happen because she had experienced that pain twice since he had cursed her. The first time it happened because she didn't know why she was in pain - didn't know she was cursed. Snape had found her curled up in the hallway on her way to the infirmary and apparated with her to the cabin, assuming correctly that Draco was the reason behind her pain.

The second time she experienced the terrible, full-body ache, was twelve days ago. She refused to see him; refused to allow him any modicum of power. So she had laid on her bed at the Weasley's, holding back every whimper of pain for hours, hoping that the curse had a breaking point - that it would stop, eventually, if she could just hold out long enough. It never broke, though. So she had broken down instead.

"Granger." Malfoy's voice brought her from her reverie. She had been staring at him for far too long. "Granger," he repeated, sounding almost concerned. "If I swear to behave?"

"You've never behaved," she answered, laughing sardonically and looking away.

"I said I'm sorry," he reminded her, moving an inch or two closer, but still not touching her. "This morning," he clarified. "I apologized."

"I remember."

"I wasn't lying when I said it, you know. Said that I… missed you."

"This is not my problem anymore, Malfoy," she said, closing her eyes. Counting to ten. She should be leaving now, shouldn't she? She wasn't the one trapped in this house. He was. But her body would not move because her mind was stuck in distant memories. Happier memories.

"I'm trying to fix it, can't you tell?" he asked, starting to sound frustrated again. She egged him on in her mind, silently bidding him to keep on getting angry. She could hate him when he was angry. "I don't want you to go. I didn't think you were serious that night and…"

"And if I stay now, you will never take me seriously," she told him.

"I believe you," he protested. "I get it, alright?"

"But you don't," she shook her head. "You're just saying everything that you know I want to hear. You always do this. You know that you always do this to me. You just miss me because you've got no one to fuck over when I'm gone."

"That's not true." His eyes suddenly snapped to life with firey anger.

"Then give me one reason to stay," she challenged.

"I already told you-"

"You miss me, I know," she interjected. "But that's not good enough. You can't just say things like that anymore. I need proof, Malfoy, you keep making these ridiculous claims about missing me or needing me but you have presented me with no warrant."

"So apologizing and admitting such terrible, embarrassing things like my dependence on you are not good enough for you?" he clarified, replacing his hands on the counter.

"Not without a warrant," she agreed, finally turning her face back to his. "I only have so much faith and hope, Malfoy. You've run me dry."

"So you're done caring?"

"Certainly not," she scoffed. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Only because of the pain."

"It stopped the moment I walked in the door. You know that."

"So then why did you stay?" he challenged.

She closed her eyes again - deep breath in, deep breath out - and opened them slowly, eyeing him sadly before whispering, "you know that, too."

"And what if that's why I need you to stay?"

"Why? You need someone around who tolerates you since _you_ can't even stand yourself?"

"You can't make me say it," he insisted, clearly struggling. "You haven't either."

"Not with my lips," she agreed.

"Then you say it first."

"Give me a reason."

"You sound like a child."

"I am," she agreed.

"No," he shook his head. "You were never really a child, Granger. You've always been some strange, mature version of the child that you should have been. No child is capable of what you have accomplished."

"That was a clever sort compliment, Malfoy," she said, "but not a warrant."

He smacked his hands against the countertop and she flinched as he tilted forward, only to propel himself away from her. He shoved his hands against his scalp, grabbing fistfuls of hair as he growled. She wanted to ask him who was acting like a child now, but held her tongue.

His palpable frustration was an odd kind of improvement. She reasoned, though, that he could just be frustrated because she wasn't giving him what he wanted and not - as she hoped - because he was struggling to say something of actual meaning this time. She stayed where she was, though, refusing to reward his behavior no matter the motive.

He was pacing around the room now, looking very much like the caged and dangerous animal that he most certainly was. He was a ridiculous sight in the jumper he had stolen from her. He was not small by any means, but his muscles were far leaner than Krum's. The jumper - which had been entirely too large for Hermione - hung off of his frame, billowing out around him as he twitched and turned.

After another brief episode of hair-pulling and muffled growling - during which she half expected him to fling himself onto the ground and proceed to kick and scream - he lowered his arms and turned to face her, murmuring something that was entirely inaudible.

"Louder," she commanded, not moving from her position. He glared at her, then, and sat down in one of the tiny chairs at his tiny table.

"I want you here," he said.

"That's not reason enough," she shook her head.

"I want you," he tried again. "All of the time."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because is not enough."

"Because I need you."

"We established that," she mocked. "I need more."

"I've given you all that I can!" he protested, spreading his arms out wide, a look of desperation in his eyes.

"You've given me barely anything, Malfoy," she spat, laughing that dry, sardonic laugh again. Though he hadn't intended to, he had repeated, word for word, one of her more poignant outbursts from twelve days ago. She didn't miss the irony. "It's all been terrible and painful."

"Not all of it," he argued.

"Those times don't count," she said, shaking her head. "It was all a lie."

"It wasn't." He stood up, crossing to her again. He stood there as he had before - close enough that she could locate the small speck of green in the upper corner of his right iris - and she waited, watching him sort through thoughts over and over and over.

"Prove it," she challenged. "You don't have to say it. Not just yet. If you say it now it will only be because I forced you to and not because you meant it. But say something else. Prove it some other way."

"What do you want me to say?" he asked, nearly pleading this time. Her heart raced faster and she worked hard to suppress any nuance of hope. Draco Malfoy? Pleading? He was so close, but she was nearly finished waiting.

It was silly to stay here, wasn't it? She had Harry and Ron waiting for her. She didn't have to sleep alone anymore - didn't need Malfoy anymore. She had just attached herself to him because he was broken and she wanted to fix him, right?

She slid around him, then, walking casually to the door. She could do this. She could walk away from him because he clearly had no reason for her to stay. She had done this earlier this morning, hadn't she? And twelve days ago, too. It was so easy to flip the roles. Shift the control. All she had to do was leave - something that he couldn't do.

"Granger," he called. She had turned the handle now and was opening the door. She didn't really want him at all now, did she? Not if it was this much work and this much pain. And maybe - but only maybe - she didn't really need him. She stepped out of the doorway and reached behind her to pull it shut, but something stopped her.

Literally, something was in the doorway, keeping the door form shutting. She looked at the four inch wide gap in the door, down to his bare foot slammed between the door and its frame, and then up to the smug expression on his face.

"You're smarter than me," he said. She was confused for a moment, but then realized that he was trying to use this as a warrant.

"Everyone knows that," she said, opening the door an inch or two and then pulling the it roughly towards her and watching as he winced. "You'll have to do better than that."

"Your hair isn't so bad," he said. He hooked his fingers around the edge of the door and pulled it towards him, pushing his entire leg into the gap this time.

"I should stay with you because my hair isn't so bad?"

"No, I… you…" he fumbled. "You make everything better."

"That's fairly broad," she commented. He sighed, closed his eyes to gather his patience, and then used his whole body to push the door out of her grasp so that it was completely open again.

"I put on your goddamn jumper," he said, looking down at the black and white striped piece of clothing. "It was in the back of my closet because I threw it where when you left. I piled every bit of clothing that I own on top of it because I didn't want to see your goddamn sweater anymore. But then you came back this morning-"

"Because you forced me to," she pointed out.

"-and you touched my arm and I smelled your hair and I missed you," he went on, watching her carefully for a cue to stop. When she didn't give it, he continued. "And then you left me again and I wanted to - I was - I wanted to break something or rip something or just… something. So I dug through all of the clothes and found your sweater on the floor. But I couldn't rip it."

"Maybe you should start working out again," she quipped. "Can't even rip a-"

"I'm being serious!" he growled. He reached out to grab her shoulders but was stopped by the invisible barrier in the doorway, keeping him inside. Permanently. "I picked it up to rip it, but it smelled like you. So I put on your goddamn sweater because it reminded me of you, ok? Is that a close enough look at what you've done to me or should I humiliate myself further, Granger?" He spat out the last sentence, angry and defeated.

She felt the corners of her mouth pulling up as she shook her head.

"No what?" he asked, furiously. She ignored his question, but lifted her arm, holding her palm up just outside of the barrier as she continued to grin. "What the fuck is your problem, Granger?"

"You missed me," she whispered, laughing lightly. "You really did miss me."

She pushed her hand forward, then, and he grabbed it without missing a beat, pulling her into him so roughly that they went tumbling backwards onto his living room floor.

**A/N**

**I am so excited about this story. It's ridiculous, really. I hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Reviews would be fantastic. I was hoping to pull a lot of readers from my other story, but I haven't gotten much response yet. I've got my fingers crossed for this chapter, though ;)**

**Thanks a million, in advance (:**


	4. You're Awful I Love You

**Chapter Four - You're Awful. I Love You.**

Hermione was not proud of how many walks of shame she had been taking recently. It was bad to be sneaking out of Harry's room at early hours of the morning, but it was even worse to be apparating to number 12 Grimmauld Place wearing yesterday's clothes, red-faced, and missing one shoe.

Had she been thinking, she certainly would have transfigured herself a new outfit. Normally the boys would not have noticed - or at least Ron wouldn't have - but she was wearing a party dress and Hermione never wore dresses unless she was forced. And as if the party dress was not enough, she had also been wearing four inch heels, and had not had the presence of mind - what with all of the searching for her other shoe and crying and apparating - to simply carry the one shoe that she had left.

It was no shock, therefore, that both Harry and Ron immediately noticed her lack of clean clothing - and that she was wearing only one shoe - and were immediately curious. Had there been a cliff nearby, she would have hurled herself off of it. She pondered for a moment about how likely she was to get the same results from jumping off of the banister at the top of the stairs before realizing that that was positively irrational. It would have to be a four-story high building for the fall to do anything more than break a few bones.

She wanted to slap herself. Or to frustrate someone else until they slapped her. Or to find a time-turner and go back to about nine hours ago and fix everything. Not that it was even remotely her fault that it was broken. It was all him. But, wasn't it always all him? And if it was always all him, then when did she have to start taking the blame? This was where the problems began when it came to Malfoys. Though, perhaps the problem began with beginning anything with a Malfoy in the first place, didn't it?

She was thinking in circles. And also standing awkwardly in front of the closed front door, completely deaf to anything that Ron or Harry had asked her.

"I'm so sorry," she said, once she realized that they were staring at her with concern. "I don't feel well."

"You look like you've been crying," Harry said. He may have been repeating himself, but she would never really know since she hadn't been together enough to both focus on her own thoughts and listen to his interrogation simultaneously when he had first appeared in front of her.

"I got something in my eye," she said, flashing a half-convincing smile. "Er, in both of them. I'm having a kind of allergic reaction, I think." Changing from one lie to the other - after already stating the first lie out loud - is generally frowned upon. She was certain that she had pulled it off with finesse, though. Ron believed her, at least.

"Herms, are you ok?" Harry asked.

"Right as rain," she nodded.

"You're missing a shoe," Ron pointed out, literally pointing at her feet as well.

"It must have disappeared while I was apparating," she offered.

"I wasn't aware that shoes could do that," Ron said, sounding as if he could possibly believe her. "Can it happen with clothes, too?"

"I would assume that anything you can wear could possibly disappear while apparating," Hermione shrugged.

"Have you slept at all?" Harry asked. He was unrelenting this morning. Her head was starting to ache now and she felt a bit dizzy. She kicked her single shoe off so that she could put both feet flat on the ground, hoping that that would help.

"I slept," she said. "It was at least a few hours." This was not a lie. She had slept, and she had slept very well. It was nearly ten a.m. when she had last checked the time which meant that she had successfully slept for upwards of six hours and had been on a bed for upwards of eight hours. "Any leftover breakfast?"

"Ron ate it all," Harry said. Ron looked sheepish.

"I'm going to make myself some," she announced, suddenly too aware of the fact that she could still taste him on her tongue. She bent down to pick up her shoe. When she straightened back up, though, there was a peculiar dark spot in one corner of her vision. She blinked a few times as the spot grew bigger, coming from all four corners and pushing towards the center. Just before it all went black, she began to wonder if this was what it felt like to pass out.

It was, indeed.

* * *

She was not even remotely sure where she was when she woke up - or who was in her bed. It wasn't her bed, of course, but since she was laying on it, it was decidedly hers for the moment. Hers or whoever it was whose body was spooned against her back and thighs and calves. He - no, she? - no, the person was breathing against her hair. She decided that whoever it was, was awake but very good at lying still.

She turned over, hoping for the best, and was greeted with a pair of familiar green eyes. Though this was the best case scenario, an alarm went off in her head.

"What if Ron walks in?" she asked, her voice was hushed and panicked.

"He's apparated back to his parents house to check on everyone else," Harry said, rubbing her back to calm her. "He left a few minutes ago. He won't be back for a while."

"Oh," she said, visibly relaxing.

"I was so scared that you were hurt, Herms," he told her.

"Just my pride," she murmured, snaking an arm around his waist and rolling the fabric of his t-shirt between her fingers. "I was just fine."

"You passed out," he reminded her.

"I was a bit shaken," she shrugged. "I hadn't eaten anything for a while. I think my blood sugar bottomed out. Or something."

"Who were you with?" he asked.

She smiled crookedly, sadly. "I'd tell you if I could," she promised. "No one too terrible."

"You came home crying."

"I came home after crying," she reworded. "I was not crying when I got home. The crying was over and done with."

"But you had been crying," he said. "That was the point. You were crying because of whoever it was."

"No," she shook her head. "No, Harry. I thought I was at first, I suppose. But I've realized now that I was crying because of me. It's much easier that way, you know. It's easier if you're the only person you cry over because, then, you have complete control over changing whatever it was you did that made you cry in the first place, see?"

"I think you may have hit your head. You've been talking nonsense."

"That made perfect sense," she insisted, a little bit offended.

"You were talking in your sleep," he said.

"Oh?" she asked. "About?"

"I couldn't make any of it out," he shook his head. "It was mostly nonsense. Something about a jumper. Something about a door. You kept saying bastard."

She grinned at that. Even her dreams were angry at the blonde-haired bastard.

"What did he do to you?" Harry asked, lining his forehead up with hers. He liked to do that, she noted. It was a unique trait that, in her mind, belonged solely to Harry.

"Nothing that I didn't allow," she responded.

It was one of her most truthful truths of the day.

* * *

When later recalling what happened after falling through Draco's doorway and onto his living room floor, Hermione was not terribly proud of how quickly everything had escalated. Would she be considered a whore now because it only took one silly, pathetic story about a boy wearing an old jumper of hers, and suddenly he had her shirt off?

She decided that, no, if she had ever crossed over from a respectable person into whore-ish territory, it had certainly been when she had let that very same jumper-wearing boy take her shirt off for the first time. Each subsequent removing of the shirt was not nearly as important because, after the initial nakedness, there was nothing new to be seen. And, thus, nothing new to be given up.

Right?

Except that every time she found herself curled up on top of him or lying beneath him, he always managed to rid her of more than just her shirt. He was a frequent thief of her pride, for example. He stole more than a bit of that when he was sliding her party dress off while she straddled him on his hard, wooden, living room floor. He stole a bit more, still, when he unhooked her bra as she stepped backwards up his stairs, giggling and kissing him and not even noticing his antics.

He found - and kept - a bit of her self-confidence after he had laid her on the bed. He simply unrolled it down her legs with her tights, see, and tossed both the tights and the confidence to the floor so they could wallow together. He slid some dignity away next, hooking it with his fingers as he pulled down the underwear that she had certainly not - but most definitely had - put on just in case she would see him that night.

Her body, though, was never stolen. Not after the first time, anyway. Because after the initial experience, it was nothing new. Nothing special. There was nothing more for him to take.

Except, of course, her heart.

But that had always, under no uncertain terms, been his. No asking or pleading or begging, thank you.

Afterwards, they laid there in silence. There was nothing to argue about so there was, consequently, nothing to say. So she clung to him, closed her eyes, and willed her body to sleep.

* * *

He was not there when she woke up. She worried for a moment that he had left the entire cabin before remembering that that was not possible. Then she wondered if he was making her breakfast. Maybe he would even bring it to bed. She pulled her dress back on and spent the better part of ten minutes searching for her missing shoe and her tights before walking quietly down the stairs to find him asleep on the couch.

She immediately made a mental list of excuses for him; she made a list of very reasonable and plausible excuses for why he was asleep on the couch instead of in the bed with her. He had woken up to get himself a drink and had been far too tired to come back up the stairs. That was the most logical excuse. The problem with excuses, though, is that their only purpose is to remove the blame. They rarely have anything to do with the truth.

He woke up a few moments later to find her standing there, in her party dress, with one shoe on and one shoe gone, and demanded to know what the hell she was doing standing in his living room and staring at him.

"You slept on the couch," she said, ignoring his question.

"You were in my bed," he supplied.

"Because you said you missed me," she agreed, smiling a smile that never had a chance at reaching her eyes. "You said you wanted me."

"And I had you, didn't I?" he said. She stared at him for a long moment after that, taking his words apart and piecing them together so many times that they should have made sense.

"I don't think I heard you correctly," she finally said. "Let's try this again, ok? I slept in your bed - where you were supposed to sleep, too - because you said that you missed me."

"I'll try this again, too," he said, standing up quickly. Standing up and manning up to say what he wanted to say but could not, she hoped. "I wanted you yesterday. Wanted to smell you hair and touch your skin. And now I have."

"So now?" she asked, handing him another chance to say it. To redeem himself.

"You're free to leave, whenever you want," he shrugged, laughing dryly at what appeared to be some silent joke. "You're so busy, remember?" he reminded her, unnecessarily. Mocking her. "People died and things were taken over and you're supposed to be anywhere but here, remember? So, then, go. I'm done with you."

She did not quite believe him - did not or could not… she was not quite sure - for a moment. But he stood there in her black and white striped jumper - Krum's jumper - and his dark jeans with an entirely serious look on his face.

She took a deep breath, smoothed down her dress. "Well, then," she said. And then she went on, making sure to enunciate each part of her words, "Fuck. You."

He gave her a moment, letting her walk to the door, before that blonde haired bastard had the audacity to sneer, "Funny, Granger. But you already have."

She didn't remember much from that point on until arriving at 12 Grimmauld Place with only one shoe, and not a whole hell of a lot more.

**A/N**

**Well, here is yet another chapter :) The title of this chapter is a line from the song "Love Me Dead." **

**Let me know what you think :) **


	5. Got No Reason Got No Shame

**Chapter Five - Got No Reason, Got No Shame**

Hermione had been the broken off part of a relationship more times than she had been the person breaking it off; she had never been the one to break it off. She had, however, been naïve enough to believe that the first time would be the worst. Didn't some of the break-up songs say that? If she could locate Cat Stevens - or whoever it was that wrote that damn song of his - she would grab him 'round the neck and inform him that the first cut had, in fact, not been the deepest. It was the third cut, it seemed, which had been the most painful. But that was a terrible line for a song, wasn't it? "The third cut is the deepest." It just didn't have the same oomph.

Hermione was staring to feel like an oomph-less line of some terrible, well-known song. Something about being heartbroken in a tent in the middle of nowhere with Ronald Weasley was not conducive to making one feel peppy. They'd been camping out in various places for nearly two weeks now. Two weeks without a proper shower would leave anyone agitated, let alone a girl who had recently been tossed off to the side without a second glance by such a narcissistic prick.

She had been laying on Harry's bed for three entire hours, analyzing, comparing, contrasting, wallowing. None of it was helping. Harry had been understanding for the past two weeks. He had been compassionate and sweet and caring and far too nice. She hadn't really intended to stop sleeping with him. But she hadn't really intended on starting to sleep with him again until she told him about Draco. And that, realistically, was never going to didn't mind, though. He wasn't the type of person to just use her for sex. She knew people like that. The terrible sort. The sort that could lie without blinking an eye. Lie extravagantly about how they missed her and even back up their lies with an even more convincing warrant - just as she had asked. And all for sex.

A very small part of her could not blame him. He was, after all, a male. And he was locked in a cabin and had been locked in a cabin for months now. His only other option for a quick lay - although sex with Draco was never a rushed procedure, no matter how malicious and terrible his intentions were - was Severus Snape, which made him not an option at all since Draco was straight as an arrow, uninterested in older men, and not even remotely happy with Snape ever since he'd locked him in a cabin.

A very large part of her blamed him. Happily. It didn't matter that he was male or locked in a cabin or Draco bloody Malfoy, the Slytherin sex god. It didn't matter that he was damn good at it - both the sex and the lying, as it turned out. She blamed him because he had been so good at lying about it. It was not her fault for believing him because there had been a time when it was not simply about sex with him. There had been a time where he would have stayed with her all night. And that was why it didn't matter that it was entirely her fault, even though it was the second time she'd been fooled. Shame, shame, shame on her.

Try as she may, though, she refused to feel shameful. She told herself that she refused to feel shameful, anyway. There was no reason to blame it on herself. She had stood up for herself quiet effectively. She had drawn her line in the sand and stuck to her guns and held her ground. She knew, now, that he was a far better actor than she had ever given him credit for. She had burned that bit of knowledge into her brain and highlighted it in lime green.

Gods this was so much worse than her break up with Krum. She hadn't thought anything could be worse than that, at the time. She had cried for weeks when she received his letter stating that they should see other people since they were in two completely different places. Quite literally. She remembered lying in her bed for so many nights and wondering how she would ever get over him, her first kiss, the first - only - boy to say 'I love you.'

She couldn't even remember where her first kiss had happened, now. It had been trivial enough to cry over for weeks after Krum broke up with her, but now she couldn't recall it at all. Had it been after the Yule Ball or out by the lake? Was it on the day that he has asked her to be his girlfriend? She had pictured a first kiss with him - with anyone - so many times in her head that now she couldn't separate the dreams from reality. Couldn't remember if the real thing had actually been as good as she had imagined.

That was the thing about firsts, though, wasn't it? They were always made out to be so much more important than they would ever end up being.

* * *

Hermione Granger had been decidedly virginal until June fifth of the year that she turned eighteen. If it hadn't been for a few chaste kisses, she could easily have been mistaken for a nun before that day. There was no under-the-shirt-over-the-bra for Viktor Krum. There was never even an over-the-shirt for him, in fact. She would wonder later -after she was more familiar with the way that men functioned - if that was why he broke up with her. That or the fact that they never really saw each other. But it was just trivial now.

She had always assumed that losing her virginity would be planned. The rest of her life was, so why not sex, too? It would be after a bleach-white wedding, on her honeymoon, with some lucky, grinning bastard. He would carry her 'cross the threshold and she would shyly slide off her dress to reveal her mildly suggestive lingerie. And he would love her.

It turned out that he had been a lucky, grinning bastard. But that was about it.

* * *

Malfoy had gone off his rocker. She'd thought he was insane before because being locked up in a cabin for a month and a half would do that to a person. She'd thought he was a little crazy when he had asked her to visit him twice a week. She'd thought he was crazier when he'd asked for three times a week. But by the end of his eighth week of being locked in the cabin, when she apparated to see him for the fourth time in one week, she had decided that they had both gone mental: him for asking her to come, and her for actually agreeing to the nonsense.

It had started off as a simple excuse. He simply liked fresh fruit, you see. After three or four days, it wasn't fresh anymore. So she should bring him fresh fruit every three or four days - not once a week. Hermione had not entirely bought this excuse. He had been in the cabin for three weeks at that point. Twenty one days. She had visited him three times - twice by herself and once with Snape - during those twenty one days. Her visits had not amounted to much more of an awkward greeting, exchanging of goods, and then an even more awkward departure. That was a long time for anyone to be left alone with just their friends "me, myself, and I," and three awkward meetings with Hermione Granger.

The sixth time she visited him, she brought him a deck of cards. He'd never played, though, so they both stood there awkwardly until he finally mumbled that he'd appreciate it if she could teach him something. That was why she stared coming three times a week: to teach Malfoy card games and board games and word games and other nonsense. He wasn't allowed to have a wand or anything magical - Snape's orders - so she taught him how to do laundry, too, and how to make coffee and wash dishes and cook food. When she looked in his refrigerator on her eighth visit, she couldn't decide if it was comical or depressing that there was a month worth of raw food that he'd had no idea how to cook. It was all just sitting there, rotting away, because he was far too proud to ask for help.

He was rarely nice during these teaching sessions, but he was rarely mean, either. Just sarcastic, mostly. Or completely silent. A few times when she was walking out to the front gates of Hogwarts to apparate to see him, she had stopped and really pondered about why, exactly, she was going to all of this trouble for him. Curiosity was a decent enough excuse, of course, but when it all came down to it, it was simply because he had said - both with his eyes and with his refrigerator full of moldy food - that he needed her. She knew better than to pity him for it, though, so she didn't.

She lost count of visits after the sixth week because it didn't really matter how many times she'd gone to see him anymore. It was becoming habitual. She'd leave the grounds after curfew, skirting expertly around any Heads or Prefects, and sliding out of the big wooden doors. By the time she was walking the route to see him at the end of his ninth week there, on the fifth day of June, she had the entire damned path to the gates memorized by heart. She didn't even have to look down to avoid the holes or bumps along the way.

She knocked on his door - because this was before etiquette was tossed aside between them - and he opened it wide a few moments later. She put her bag and her coat on one end of the couch and joined him in his excuse of a kitchen, watching proudly as he finished cooking a stack of pancakes. They divvied the food up and he asked her politely about her day and she answered, obliging to distract him from his.

A game of cards came next. She beat him soundly the first game and he snuck in a win during the second, but her solid victory during the third left him with the task of washing the dishes. It was all going according to routine, and it was all going smoothly. She could hardly believe that they'd made it through an entire hour and a half together without someone screaming. They were a twisted sort of friends now. That was the only sort of friend she could ever really expect to be with Malfoy, of course. She watched him dry the last dish, feeling that same sense of pride, knowing that she was the one who had taught him to dry dishes and cook pancakes and be civil to mud bloods. It felt akin to slaying a giant. It felt bloody fantastic.

He followed at a distance as she walked to get her things, complementing his pancakes and teasing him lightly - carefully - for his skills at cards. She walked towards the door with her coat and bag in her arms and looked up at him with an odd expression on her face when he appeared at her side.

"I can let myself out," she assured him. "I usually do."

"I know," he said. He shuffled his feet. He was so strange now, this new version of Malfoy. The post-dead-Dumbledore Malfoy, that is. She'd watched him carefully over the past nine weeks and she'd spotted the old Malfoy countless times. He was just subdued now, that was all. He was just polite now. He proved that by thanking her. Actually thanking her. It came out of nowhere, but he'd said it: "I just wanted to say, er, thank you, Granger." And then he'd shuffled his feet some more as she processed the words.

"Oh, erm, right," she said, finally. "You're welcome, of course." She smiled. "So I'll see you in a few days?"

"It's Friday," he said.

"So, Sunday, then?"

"No," he shook his head. "It's Friday, isn't it?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Then you don't have class in the morning."

"Yes."

"Then you can stay longer?" It was a question - a request.

"Erm, yes. I suppose," she agreed. He took a step towards her and she fidgeted a bit, shifting her bag and coat over to one arm. "But I don't really have much else to talk about or do. We could play a board game or…" she trailed off as he moved closer, still. His arm was brushing up against her shoulder now and she just stood there, looking up at him, with no idea what to do.

"Your hair smells nice," he said.

"Th-thanks. Um, we can sit on the couch…?"

"I don't understand what you're doing to me," he said. His voice was quiet. Not accusing. It was such an abrupt statement, tumbling out almost as if he had no control over his words.

"I'm not doing anything," she said, shaking her head.

"But you are," he said. "I don't know how you did it, but you're inside my head, Granger. Can you feel it, too? You're like a magnet. You've got a pull and I…" his hand appeared in the corner of her vision and she stood terribly still, watching as it came closer and closer. He lifted up one of her curls and pushed his brows together. "It's softer than I imagined."

"Conditioner," she offered. Her voice sounded tiny. Insignificant. He dropped the curl and moved his hand to her jaw. She had never realized just how large his hands were. Or maybe it was that her face was small. She couldn't think clearly with his skin touching hers as his fingers slid down the line of her jaw, coming to a stop just under her chin. She bit her lip, watching his eyes still, and jumped a little when his thumb grazed over her bottom lip.

"How are you so soft?" he asked. "You're hypnotizing."

She was so utterly and completely confused at this point. Draco Malfoy was touching her face. Draco Malfoy was running his thumb over her bottom lip. Didn't he remember her muddied blood? Did he remember who she was at all?

"Malfoy, are you alright?" she asked. Maybe if she spoke up he would hear her voice and snap out of it. He would remember who she was and he would stop touching her and sending those strange shivers all of the way down her spine.

"Hardly," he answered. "I don't know what's happening."

"You're touching me," she told him.

"I know, I know," he nodded, passing his thumb across her lip again. His eyes were fixed on her face - on her lips - and her eyes were still fixed on his eyes. Hypnotized. "I want to…" he trailed off.

"What?" she asked.

And then his face was moving towards hers. Her heartbeat was pounding inside of her head as he tilted his head a few inches to the right. His eyes flicked up, looking into her own, before disappearing behind his eyelids just as his lips made contact with hers. She would never be able to explain what it was that made her close her eyes, too. She heard her bag thud against the floor a moment later and felt his hands in her hair and on her back as her own hands moved of their own accord, to mirror his.

His hair was so soft and his lips were so warm. She didn't know how to react when she felt his tongue - was that what it was, his tongue? - on her lip. She had never done this before. One single touch from his tongue took one of her 'firsts.' This was what the boys referred to as French kissing, wasn't it? She wondered what she should do next before realizing that her mouth had somehow already started to respond. Somehow it knew what to do even though her brain had no idea.

It was all happening so fast that she never really had time to process anything. There were too many sensations as he pulled her tight, kissed her lips, and twisted her hair around his fingers. There was too much to analyze and investigate that her head finally gave up and shut down as he lead them over to the couch. He sat down and she refused to tear her mouth from his, sliding onto his lap, still playing with his hair. There went another 'first': her first time sitting on - no, straddling - a boy. She would never remember who moved first after that. His stomach was warm, though, through the fabric of his shirt and it had been only logical for her to slide her hand underneath the t-shirt to test its temperature more accurately.

He pulled away from her, then, and she was sure she had done something wrong until she took a long, hard look into his eyes. Even as inexperienced as she was, she knew from the way he was looking at her that she had not been making any mistakes. Her mind raced back to life and her heartbeat tried to match the pace of her spinning thoughts, fluttering rapidly in her chest. That was desire in his eyes, wasn't it? He did want her, didn't he?

Did she want him to want her?

Merlin, it had all felt so good that she hadn't even stopped to think about who it was that she was doing it with. As she sat there through that very long moment of silence, staring into the eyes of the boy who had hated every cell of her body for years, all that she wanted to do was start kissing him again. She hadn't realized how attached to him she had become until that very moment. She was Hermione Granger, after all, so there was a normal amount of attachment to everyone. But it was beyond polite compassion now. That was clear.

She felt like that stupid frog in the kettle must have felt. He's placed in this kettle of room temperature water, sat on the stove, and then the burner gets turned on. The poor frog just sits there, enjoying the warming water without even realizing that it's begun to boil until it's too late. Malfoy hadn't even touched her until tonight, though, had he? This… sudden sexual tension was just so abrupt and arbitrary, wasn't it? Or had the water been heating up this whole time?

Oh, Gods, she had been staring at him for an awful long time now, hadn't she? Why wasn't he saying anything? Was she supposed to leave? She shifted on his lap and was confused as his hands held tightly to her hips, holding her down.

"Malfoy, I-"

"Please don't leave," he said. The words all but fell out of his mouth, all pushed together and tangled up that she barely understood them. They were not said to be pathetic or needy - just sincere.

"Oh, I just.. I… you…" she fumbled. She chewed on her lip for a moment. "You stopped kissing me."

"Just to look at you," he supplied.

"Why?"

"Entranced," he answered, simply. "I can't quite figure out when I stopped hating you."

"Me neither," she agreed, one corner of her mouth pulling up. This was so strange.

"It's not as if you stopped being a know-it-all," he went on. She could not be offended, for it was true.

"And you've not exactly stopped being a bastard," she informed him, chuckling.

"It's not that I like you," he said, as if to clarify. "It's just that I can't seem to hate you anymore and I…"

"It's because I'm the only one here," she told him. "That's why. Maybe we should find someone else to bring you food."

"No," he answered, immediately. His eyes flashed with embarrassment and - for a small moment - hurt.

"I could tell Snape you'd like to see him again," she tried again.

"No, that's not…" he sighed, frustrated. "I don't want to like you," he admitted, quietly, "but I wait for you to come. And I don't think it's just because you're the only one who's going to come, Granger. I just… it's just that… Gods. You're the only one who doesn't hate me now, after what I tried to do. Why don't you hate me, Granger? Why have you kept my secrets and brought me food every week after all that I've done to you?"

She shook her head, smiling that little half-smile, and said, "I could never hate you, Malfoy. Especially not after what you did."

"I tried to kill him," he said, gruffly, gripping her hips tightly as if to emphasize his power or strength.

"But you didn't," she said. "That's why I'm here."

"I'm not a good person," he told her. "Don't think that just because I play your silly card games and wash my own dishes now that I'm good."

"You're not entirely," she agreed. "But you're not entirely bad, either."

"You can't change me," he warned. "You're a fucking idiot if you think you can change me, Granger."

"I know," she nodded. "And I haven't really tried to, have I? I've maybe domesticated you a bit, but you're still very much Malfoy. Although I'm not entirely sure what's happened to cause this," she said, looking down at their laps and then back up to his. This was the first time she located that tiny green speck in his eye. "Enemies don't normally do this, you know."

"Well it would seem that we're not enemies anymore," he said, sliding one hand up to the middle of her back and pressing slightly, urging her forward.

"But we're not friends, either," she said. She complied to his wishes and leaned forward, touching the very tip of her nose to his. "Why did you ask me to stay, Malfoy?"

"I want you," he said. His eyes confirmed that this was true.

"But why?" She placed one hand on each side of his chest, bracing herself so that she didn't crash forward against his face.

"Because you don't hate me," he said.

"That's not reason enough to go snogging me," she argued, still nose to nose with him and staring into his eyes. He narrowed his gaze, then, as if sizing up the situation.

"It's my birthday," he admitted, finally.

"Oh!" she gasped. "Oh, why didn't you tell me earlier? I would have brought a-"

"I don't want a cake," he said, silencing her. "I don't want a party or gift bags or silly fucking songs sang to me. I just want you. I've no idea why, Granger. But it's my birthday and I want you."

"And will you still want me tomorrow?" she asked, pulling her face away a few inches. "Will you still want me in the morning?"

"Will you still think I'm not entirely bad in the morning?" he countered.

"Of course," she said.

"Then yes." As soon as the words left his mouth, he pulled her forward again, back into the strange vortex of unfamiliar sensations.

Just as she was adjusting to it all again, she felt him tug at the hem of her jumper - Krum's jumper. She had slipped it on a few hours ago over a pair of black leggings because it was the perfect weight for the temperature outside. And now it was on the floor - he was the first boy to take her shirt off. But she found she didn't even care. She would find out later - after subsequent experiences - that he was being quite the gentleman. His big, warm hands were all over her back and stomach and hips, but nowhere else. He was on his best behavior, even after she pulled his own shirt over his head.

After thoroughly learning her mouth and her lips, he kissed his way around her neck and ears, bringing on an entirely new round of sensations to process. When he stopped at her right ear, after biting it lightly, and asked "is this alright?" she could do nothing but nod and wonder why - how? - had she never done this before?

How had she made it through seventeen entire years without ever feeling like this before? And why had she deprived herself? For that was what it had been: deprivation. This was better than butterflies in her stomach and long walks by the beach. This was all warm and tingles and delicious sighs. How had she ever been happy without feeling like this? Kissing Krum had been messy and awkward. She had been self-conscious and scared and nervous all at once. But kissing Draco was natural. She was born to do this: to kiss, to touch, to sigh, to smile.

When he pushed her off of his lap she was confused, but he stood up and took her hand. He lead her up the stairs, kissing her as she stepped up backwards, catching her as she giggled and misstepped. He lifted her onto the bed, watching as she moved to the center, and following without question when she pulled on his arms.

They kicked their shoes off as he slid his hand under her back, in between her shoulder blades. And then everything stopped again. He stopped kissing her and held both his hands still, and she stopped a moment after, immediately clouding over with doubt and confusion as he pulled his face back from hers.

"Granger," he said.

"Malfoy," she replied. He was staring into her eyes again, locked in a stalemate. Her mind raced back to life as she tried to determine if she was supposed to say something or if he was going to. She breathed out in relief when he opened his mouth.

"Can I have you?" he asked.

"Do you really want me?" she wondered, again.

"All of you," he answered.

"Bushy hair and brains and all?" she asked, smiling cautiously.

"All of you," he repeated. They stared at each other again after that before she realized that this time it was really her move.

"But why?" she asked again. She needed to be assured.

"I need you," he answered. And that was all that she needed to hear.

"Then, yes."

Before she had time to be shy, they were naked. It didn't matter in that moment who they were or where they had been or what they had done - or failed to do - because she needed him just as much as he needed her. The need to be needed was surely as strong as any other need, if not stronger. And, no, it was certainly not planned. It was not on her honeymoon or after her white wedding. She had ruined any chance of the later, now.

But when it was over he held her. He played with her hair and grinned as she listened to his heartbeat and smiled. Sometimes plans were established for the sole purpose of being broken and replaced with real, tangible experiences instead.

When looking back at it from the future, she would never quite be sure what made her do it. Was it the sensations? Was it to build up her own insecurities? It was a night she would never quite forget. A decision she could never find the reason to regret. Her very first time. It had not been even remotely what she'd dreamt it would be - and, in reality, it had felt even better than she had expected it to - and though he would later return to being that less subdued, less polite version of himself, she would never regret sacrificing her very first time to Draco Malfoy.

As she laid there afterwards, draped across her - because, for a while, she actually could consider him hers - lucky, grinning bastard, she thought about how nice it was that sometimes two wrongs could make a very good right.

**A/N**

**Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but here it is! **

**Review, review, review, please :) **


	6. A Therapeutic Chain Of Events

**Chapter Six - A Therapeutic Chain Of Events**

Anxiety attacks made frequent appearances in Hermione's life. Perhaps they were not anxiety attacks as defined in psychological books and offices, but she was not a dumb witch: she knew what anxiety was and she knew what attacks were and she knew, for sure, that anxiety lobbed a punch her way from time to time. It felt like helplessness and it was quite unpleasant. It started with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, accompanied by dustings of guilt or sadness or unreasonable anger. Usually, though, it was just guilt. And no matter how many times she told herself that it was all ok because she was simply, just simply, having another anxiety attack, she would still go on having one.

That was what was so terrible about them: knowing exactly what your brain was doing to you but having absolutely no control over the terrible, unrelenting spattering of endless and incomprehensible amounts of guilt and panic about nothing in particular. There was nothing logical or fair about them, but they happened to her, so she dealt with them.

She was an expert of hiding the attacks - nearly as good at acting as bloody Malfoy was, it turned out - so no one had ever noticed. She was an expert at recognizing them, to, of course. And that was how she knew that this was not an anxiety attack that she was experiencing now. This was, in fact, a complete and total meltdown.

One moment she had been playing wizard's chess and the next she was falling towards the floor, forgetting how to breath properly on her way down. Poor, dear, Ron began apologizing and blaming himself, muttering nonsense about how he wouldn't have put her in checkmate so quickly if he'd realized she was still in such a delicately unbalanced emotional state. His misguided apology only managed to make her cry harder, gasping hopelessly for breath as hot, salty tears flooded uselessly down her cheeks. She added wizard's chess to the list of things that she was currently failing at - along with breathing, sitting still, thinking rationally, and functioning as a normal human being ought to.

Somewhere along the way, Harry had reached her. He had her gathered in his arms now and was whispering soothing nonsenses as he pinned her flailing form against his chest. She wanted to apologize for covering him in tears, but words were not an option, so she gurgled and garbled and flailed instead, hoping he would get the message. Thinking, unfortunately, was certainly an option. As she flailed there, crying, her brain thought circles around itself, tossing memories, realizations, verbal bashings, and half-hearted comforts at her. It was all just so much noise, noise, noise, noise. Too many words with too many syllables and consonants and vowels.

It was all just too much.

* * *

Two days before Hermione started sleeping with her best friend, she threw a half-empty dish of lasagna at Draco Malfoy's head. Things had been rocky for the past three weeks - both with Draco and at the Weasley's - and Hermione had been finding it harder and harder to go and see Draco. It all started after a particularly nasty screaming match that they had for a reason that Hermione could not quite remember afterwards. She had avoided going to see him for four days before remembering that she needed to bring him food. The next three or four times she visited him, relations did not improve.

It was no excuse to not go see him, and she knew that. He was locked in a bloody cabin and he had always been an asshole, despite his arbitrary showings of affection. She would have been mad at him for not visiting her as frequently. But she would not have called him half of the names he had called her, so there would have been no reason for him to avoid her.

Regardless of what he said or did, though, he was occasionally nothing more than a scared boy locked in a cabin with no one to talk to, and she could not blame him for not wanting to be alone with himself. She was a very decent, nice, and caring person, but she didn't think that she would be able to tolerate being by herself for that long. So how could he be expected to tolerate it?

When she had returned on that night - two days before knocking on Harry's door - she brought two large bags full of groceries and a brand new muggle board game to play with him. It had been five days since she had last seen him, and he was not shy about showing his frustration. He helped her cook the lasagna, following her directions and not saying a single word. They ate dinner in silence, avoiding each others eyes. She knew he was angry, and she did not blame him.

Until, that is, he responded to her offer to play a board game by informing her, "no, I do not want to play anymore of your fucking games you fucking insensitive mudblood bitch."

She sat the dish of lasagna down on the counter, turning around to face him with her head cocked to one side. She did not quite believe that those words had just come out of his mouth, completely unprovoked. No, not entirely unprovoked. But unnecessary. Entirely.

After confirmation from his cold, dark stare, she said, "I think that I should go."

"If you walk to that door I swear to Merlin I'll kill you," he said, gaze unwavering.

"Well, I apologize," she said, scoffing. "I just thought that since I was such a fucking insensitive mudblood bitch that you didn't want me around, you fucking ferret."

"I wanted you around yesterday!" he yelled. "Or the day before that. Or, hell, maybe even three days ago! Or four! But you weren't fucking here, Granger. You left me alone in this disgusting, empty, irritating fucking cabin to die!"

"You are not dying," she said, motioning to the browning bananas on the counter. "You had everything that you needed for basic survival."

"Except normal human interaction," he shot back. "Did you enjoy yourself, Granger? Strutting around in the outside world? Fucking the Weasel and Potter? You're such a fucking slag."

It was then that she threw the lasagna at his head. She did not register what she had done until the dish had left her grip, soaring directly towards the center of his forehead. She gasped, pulling her hands to her mouth and watched helplessly as he registered what was happening. He ducked out of the way one tiny fraction of a second before it would have hit him.

"The fuck!" he exclaimed, hands flying up to either side of his face as he stared at her with wide-eyed shock. "The-the-the… you could have fucking hit me!"

"I intended to," she informed him, wide-eyed, but sincere. She dropped her hands from her face.

"I could have gotten a concussion," he said. "I could have died!"

"You wouldn't have died, you git," she sneered.

"You would have let me," he insisted. "You would have stood there and watched while I bled out all over this drab tile floor!"

"I would have done no such thing," she hissed, marching towards him. He stood up, literally rising to her challenge. "I think that I should go now."

"I think that you should stay."

"So that you can keep verbally abusing me?"

"At least I haven't thrown a casserole dish at your fucking head!"

"You drive me crazy," she said, simply as an observation. "I just threw a dish of lasagna at your head. I did something that could have seriously hurt you. I… I don't think I can do this anymore, Malfoy. I think I need to find someone else."

"No," he said, slapping one big hand on to each of her shoulders and squeezing hard. "You're not allowed."

"As if you can stop me," she scoffed.

"I'll tie you down," he threatened. "You're the only one who comes here. No one will know how to find you because Snape will be too busy to care."

"And then there will be no one to bring food for either of us," she said. "And we'll both die of starvation."

"I could steal your wand," he said, changing direction. "I could tie you up and leave you here while I escape."

"Except that you can't cross the barrier," she said, unthreatened. "It's strong and specific magic, Malfoy. Only Snape can let you out."

"Then you'll go to him, find out how to undo the damn spell, and free me," he ordered.

"I'll do no such thing. If I leave, I'm not coming back."

"You know what, then, Granger?" he removed his hands from her shoulders and took a step back. "That's fine, then. You just go ahead and leave and don't you dare to come the fuck back. I've gotten all I need out of you, anyway."

"Fine," she nodded, not phased. She pushed past him and picked her coat up off of the chair, sliding her arms into it. "I'll owl Professor Snape as soon as I return to let him know that I will be unable to continue my task."

"Brilliant," Draco said, clasping his hands together as he strolled cockily towards her, following her to the door. "Be sure to mention that I'd love another virgin, ay? Someone as equally pure and delightfully fun to corrupt as you were."

Her eyes burned as a sudden rush of tears appeared. "Malfoy," she whispered. She was completely knocked off guard. Not once in any of their other arguments had he brought that up. He had called her names, pushed her delicate self-esteem around a bit, but he had consistently avoided the most obviously sensitive topic.

"It was a treat, Granger," he went on, spinning her around roughly to face him as he backed her up to the door. She bit her tongue to hold back the tears and willed herself not to shake as he blocked her in. "I've been with my fair share of women, but you're the first virgin. It was fucking fantastic to fuck you over, you know? So innocent and-"

"Stop it," she warned. Her voice was not strong and her eyes were pleading. She shook as she tried not to cower under his height and size. She had never actually been scared of him until this very moment. She'd never imagined that even he would be this indecent. A few moves and he could have her pinned - the look in his eyes assured her of that. And if he had her contained, there was no telling what he would do to her.

"You deserve my thanks, though," he insisted with biting sarcasm. "Thanks so much for throwing yourself at me, you pathetic little twat. Only Hermione Granger would be stupid enough to blindly trust me to pop her cherry-"

"Let me leave, Malfoy," she persisted, flattening her hands against his chest and shoving. He did not budge.

"You're a bitch, Granger."

"And you're a terrible actor," she shot back. "I'm not half as stupid as you think I am."

"And what does that mean?" he asked, laughing a disgustingly manacle laugh.

"You're just saying this because you're hurt," she offered, blinking away the tears. "You're hurt because I've been avoiding you and you can't do anything about it. Your confidence is injured, so you're striking at me, cause I'm the one that hurt you and I'm the one that's got all of the control."

"Right," he laughed, "except that I could ensure that you never leave this cabin."

"You'd kill yourself, too. You'll starve."

"It would be worth it," he hissed. "If you even dare to insinuate again that I give one fucking care in the world about the pathetic creature you've become, Granger, I will break you down. I swear I will. You're used goods now, and no good to me. So get the fuck out of my house, you whore."

She opened her mouth to reply but closed it in shame as a tear fell down her face. She shoved at his chest again, sending him stumbling backwards. She took full advantage of his stumbling and hurried quickly out of the door, sprinting away from his cabin and not daring to look back.

* * *

Hermione had not intended to show up at Harry's door. She had been lost somewhere in her thoughts when she rolled out of her bed and padded down the hallway with a blanket wrapped tightly around herself. She dropped her head against his door, sniffling as a tear ran down her cheek and watching as it dropped to the wooden floor below her feet. She lurched forward a moment later, suddenly unsupported by the door, and stumbled into Harry.

"Herms?" he asked, sounding simultaneously bemused and concerned.

"Hi," she managed, regaining her balance and taking a step back from him. "Um, hi. I'm so sorry, I must've been sleepwalking."

"Do you cry in your sleep, too?" he questioned, reaching out to wipe a few tears off of one of her cheeks. Hermione tried to respond but ended up choking out a sob instead. "Oh, 'Mione," Harry said, pulling her flush against his chest, blanket and all, and resting his head on top of hers. "What's wrong?"

"I just wish I didn't want him," she cried, sneaking on arm out of her blanket to wipe away a tear. "I wish I didn't miss him, but I do. I can't help it. I didn't mean to get so wrapped up in him but I just couldn't help it."

"Well, maybe he'll come to his senses," Harry offered. She silently thanked him for not asking her who 'he' was.

"He won't come to his senses," she murmured. "And even if he does, I've come to mine. He's no good for me. I've got to stop missing him."

"It's easier said than done," Harry said, sadly.

"It's so hard to even think about stopping it all, isn't it?" she thought outloud. "You never really realize how much you depend on those little moments and gestures until they're gone. Gods, I feel so stupid. I never even knew that I could miss something like this."

"Like what?" Harry asked, leading her over to the bed. They sat on the edge, not facing each other, and he left one arm around her shoulder.

"It's… embarrassing," Hermione shook her head.

"I'm your best friend, 'Mione. You can tell me. I won't judge you, you know."

"It's just…" she trailed off, wondering if she should even breach the subject. She felt herself blushing at the mere thought of telling Harry she'd kissed a boy, let alone slept with one. "I'd just never done any of it before, you know? Any of the kissing or anything else. And now I wish I hadn't because I miss it. I miss him. I can't get any of it back now. It feels like I'm some kind of bloody addict, and he's the only fix."

"That's not how it works," Harry said, sounding assuring.

"What do you mean?"

"They physical stuff is what you're missing, right?" he tried to clarify. She nodded against his chest. "I mean, obviously you miss dating him, too. But half of the reason that people get lonely is because they've got no one to hold them anymore."

"I wasn't dating him," she clarified immediately. "He's not… I mean… I would have. But that's not what it was, which just makes it even worse. I just wish I didn't miss him."

"But he's not been nice, eh?" Harry asked, eliciting another nod. "From what it sounds like, he's never really been nice. So maybe since you didn't even have a real sort of relationship with whoever he was, maybe now you're just missing the… er… physical aspects of… whatever you were with him."

Hermione shook her head, glancing up at Harry. "It's more than just physical. I tried not to let it be, of course, because he would never care the same way. You can't really choose who you fall in love with, though."

"No," Harry agreed, expression distant for a moment. She knew his mind had jumped to her redheaded roommate who was currently curled up in Dean's bed. "You can't choose. But you can distract yourself. There are loads of things you can do to keep your mind off of whoever this asshole is, right? There's lots of distractions around us."

"But I miss being with him," she protested. "I miss being in his arms and… and… and kissing him and… you know."

"You can get that from someone else, though," Harry debated. "Don't you feel comfortable right now?"

"Well, yes," she conceded, unconsciously shifting towards Harry. "But we've known each other for years. You're my best friend and all that. It makes perfect sense that this would be comforting."

"Listen, Herms, it's never going to be exactly the same with different people, but this… physical attachment that you're looking for can be found somewhere else. You don't have to stay with someone who makes you cry, even if you're in love with him. You just distract yourself until you forget about him and move on to the next lucky bastard."

"But it was special with him," she said. "It felt so… right. Good."

"And you don't think that anyone else will ever be able to make you feel as good as he did?" Harry asked, amused. "It's not rocket science, you know. Sex, I mean. Or whatever it is that you're missing. It's just about nerve endings and sensations. You can place a deeper meaning onto it if you want, but in the end, what you've taken out of it is that it feels good, eh? Anyone with a little experience can make you feel good."

"So you're saying," she began, pulling back to look at Harry, "that I could go make out with Ronald right now and he would make me feel as good as-" she was cut off then, against her will, by the curse, snapping her mouth shut.

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "I don't know anything about Ron's kissing techniques, you know."

"But what if I decide I want to kiss someone else, and then they turn out to be terrible at it?" Hermione asked.

"Then you kiss someone else," Harry said.

"Then I'd have kissed four whole people," she said. "I'd have given away a little bit of myself to four completely different people - three of whom I wasn't even dating. Wouldn't that make me a bit of a whore, Harry?"

"You don't have to give away any bits of yourself, Herms," he shook his head. "You have complete control over the situation when you're in it. If it's just to be about nerve endings and sensations, then you don't have to put any kind of emotion into it at all. Just enjoy yourself, you know? You don't always have to care so much about everything and everyone. You'll burn yourself out and wear yourself down if you extend your heart to every single person that crosses paths with you."

"But how do I not care?" she asked.

"You make it about you."

"But how?"

"Just enjoy it," Harry shrugged. "Don't think about consequences or feelings or morals or any of that other shit. Just do it for the nerve endings, if that's what you want."

She stared into his eyes, then, teetering on the edge of what she had always held to be true, trying to decide if she should - could - jump into this new, dark, pit of unknown information that Harry had just presented her with. She had always loved everyone, no matter the person or circumstance. She always tried so hard to locate an ounce of good in anyone she came into contact with and tried to treat everyone else just as she wanted to be treated.

But where had that gotten her? Here she was, sitting on her best friends bed, completely heartbroken over some son of a bitch who didn't even deserve the time of day. Is that where compassion led? She'd always thought that it would lead to something better - that she would get some of it returned to her eventually. With the exception of a very small group of people, though, she'd only been taken advantage of, hadn't she?

So would it be so bad to do one thing just for herself, not worrying about what it would mean to the other person? Would it be so terrible to focus on herself just once? She chewed on her lip, flipping thoughts back and forth, still staring into Harry's green eyes.

When she spoke again, her voice was unsure and quiet. "Harry," she said, "are you any good at it?" He gave her a funny, confused look. "At… at nerve endings. Sensations."

"I dunno," he shrugged, blushing. "I've not done much of it. I mean, Cho was crying, but I don't think that that was because of me. There were only a couple others after her, and they didn't seem to have much of an opinion either, I s'pose."

"Ok," she nodded, biting her lip again. "Then… will you kiss me? Just as a kind of… test, you know. Would it be too weird?"

Harry's lip turned up at one corner as he chuckled lightly. "You're asking me to kiss you?"

"Oh, fuck off," Hermione recoiled, shoving his arm off of her and standing up. "If you're just going to have a laugh about it, then just forget it." As soon as she had asked him to kiss her, she had regretted it. He was Harry. It was such nonsense to be asking her best friend - who she'd looked at for so long as a kind of brother - to kiss her. What the fuck had she been thinking? She felt yet another unwelcome round of tears stinging at her eyes.

"'Mione," Harry said, still chuckling. He grabbed her upper arm, pulling her back down beside him. "It just took me off guard, s'all. You've done that quite a few times tonight."

"Well, I'm sorry that I'm not living up to your expectations," she grumbled, folding her arms across her chest.

"You've surpassed them, Herms. You've outright shocked me. Here I am, thinking that I know one of my best mates, but you've been running off sleeping with boys?"

"And now you think I'm a slag," Hermione insisted, biting her tongue hard to hold the tears back. "It was one boy, Harry. One, pathetic excuse for a human being and I'd rather not be reminded of it right now."

"Herms," Harry said, replacing the arm around her shoulder and turning her towards him, trying to make eye contact. "Oh, Herms, no. It's just such a turn around, that's all. You're finally crossing into territory that I understand, you know? You're not just all about books and studying anymore. I can relate to you more. It's… nice, actually." He grinned down at her and she tried to avoid his damned green eyes.

"I think I should go back to my bed now," she said.

"Even though I want you here?" he asked.

"I've had enough embarrassment for one night."

"Why're you embarrassed?" he asked. She glared at him. He shook his head, bemused. "Close your eyes, 'Mione."

"I don't want to," she protested.

"Just do it," he insisted. She stared defiantly for a few moments before sighing loudly and complying with his wishes. She laid there nervously for several excruciatingly long seconds before she felt his breath against her face as he lined his forehead up with hers. His nose brushed up against hers a moment later and then his lips were pressed up against her own.

She was surprised by the kiss. But she was further surprised by the shiver that ran down the entire length of her spine. It only took another beat for her to respond, pushing one hand into his hair. His lips were different, but just as warm and interesting as Draco's had been. It was overwhelming again - and she was delighted at that. Kissing Harry was not at all like kissing Draco, but that was not a bad thing. It was just different. His mouth felt different and the shape of his tongue was different as he tangled it together with hers. None of it was bad, though. Not the tender way he cradled her head, or the way he smiled that crooked smile against her lips as he whispered, "Merlin, you're really good at this."

As soon as her brain accepted what was happening - she was kissing her best friend Harry! - she shut it completely off, as she had become accustomed to doing. Her lips and appendages were on autopilot, moving and bending to bring him closer and kiss him more deeply, their sole motivation to continue the unfaltering assault of delightful sensations.

Somehow they ended up laying down, Hermione on top, her blanket draping over them as Harry's hands roamed up and down her sides and back. He flipped her over and they worked together to pull his shirt off first, then hers, before she helped him push her pajama shorts down her legs. She crushed him back to her then, pulling his warm, smooth body against hers, tangling their legs together and nipping at his lip.

He broke the kiss then, pulling just an inch or two away from her face, breathing heavily. His hand was underneath her back, right between her shoulder blades, fingers poised at the hook to her bra. There was no way she could miss this moment which was so nearly identical to the first time she had slept with Draco. But this was Harry, her best friend. She was both excited and frightened to realize that she wanted him to unhook her bra just as much as she had wanted Draco to.

"'Mione," Harry said, searching her eyes for an answer to some unasked question.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized. "I don't know what came over me and I-"

"You're sorry?" he asked. "For what?"

"Mauling you," she summed up, embarrassed.

"You're just full of surprises tonight," he said, sounding slightly awed. "Who would have guessed that my best mate Hermione was a championship snogger?"

"You shouldn't mock," she scolded, cheeks turning red. "I really do think I should go-"

"Hermione," he interrupted. "I just stopped to be sure that this is what you wanted - to be sure you understand that I'm… I love Ginny, you know."

"I know," she assured him, readjusting under the pressure of his body up against hers. "And I love… him."

"So you're ok with this all, then?" he asked, glancing down at their mostly naked bodies, adjusting the fingers that were still poised, ready to unhook. "With using each other as distractions?"

"I don't want to stop," she said, fixing her eyes on his to convey her sincerity. "You were right, Harry, about the nerve endings and whatnot. About distractions."

"So you're just using me as a distraction?" he clarified, eyes twinkling playfully.

"And you're doing the exact same," she confirmed, lifting her head up from the pillow to touch her nose to his. "We've gone bonkers," she whispered.

"But it feels so good," he whispered back, slotting his lips against hers again. The uncontrollable shiver down her spine confirmed that she would not be able to deny the truth in his statement. As he focused on her lips and unsnapping her bra, she slid one hand down across his thin stomach to the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down gently as she bit his lip again. "Herms," he said against her lips, sounding pained, but worried. "Herms, wait."

She dropped her head back down onto the pillow, groaning and feeling like a bloody idiot again.

"Should we talk about this?" he asked.

"About what, Harry? The kissing or the half-nakedness? About the fact that you just unsnapped my bra?"

"No," he replied, blushing again, "the you-pulling-off-my-boxers."

"If you don't want to, then we'll just go back to kissing," she conceded, fixing a neutral expression on her face.

"No, no, no," he shook his head quickly. "No, I want to. It's just that… is it… um… your first time? I was teasing you earlier about sleeping with boys, but you never really said and I-"

"No," she answered, quietly. "It's not even my fourth or fifth time. I'm used goods now, haven't you heard?"

"Aren't we all?" Harry asked.

"And how many times has it been for you?" she prodded, curious.

"Not many," he shook his head. "I could count them on one hand and they didn't mean what they ought to have meant."

"And what will this mean?" she asked. "What will it mean if we… if I…"

"It will mean that we love each other," he supplied. "As much as two best friends possibly can, I s'pose. It will mean that I need you here in my bed just as much as you want to be here. It will be comforting, I hope, and good."

"It will mean that we can be happy," she added. "Even though we can't have the people that our silly hearts have decided to fall for, we can still be happy with each other."

They smiled at each other then - understanding, sympathizing, happy smiles. As he tossed her bra to one side, Harry did not steal any of her pride or dignity, but instead covered her with kisses injected with respect. He did not argue when she pushed his boxers down this time, but countered her move by slipping off underwear as well.

When it had all been stripped away, he confused her by sitting back on his heels, staring down at her with what she perplexedly determined to be wonder or adoration. A new round of tears pricked at the corner of her eyes as she reveled in the moment, so oddly happy and warm-feeling, trying to memorize his expression. They stayed like that for several moments, Hermione looking up at him, happy and unashamed, and Harry soaking her in. His brilliant eyes shot fantastic, almost tangible, waves of all things good down at her.

It was good, she decided, that her heart was set on Draco. She didn't think she could bear being stared at and adored like this by Harry - knowing that he would never love her as much as he loved Ginny - if she didn't love that bloody blonde bastard. Her heart would have broken in two because of her raven haired best friend. But she _was_ in love with Draco, and Harry _was_ in love with Ginny, so it was just as Harry had suggested: they were the perfect distractions for each other. They couldn't be happy with the ones they were in love with, but this was happy enough for now.

After Harry had been awarded with several eyefuls of her, they started back right where they had left off and did not say another word until afterwards.

Hermione's back was spooned up against Harry's chest and her arm was stacked on top of his arm, following its angles as he held her tight. She kissed his arm sweetly and whispered a quiet, "thank you," before finally finding sleep, curled up in her best friend's arms.

* * *

When Hermione awoke later on during the day of her self-diagnosed meltdown, she was on her side in Harry's bed with his strong, comforting arm draped across her waist, holding her form tightly against his. His breathing was even against the back of her neck. She took in a deep breath, reveling in the wonderful silence of the atmosphere around her.

Her mind was, thankfully, quieter now - much more manageable than the jumbled, horrible mess that it had been just a few hours ago. Harry had always had that effect on her. As she curled herself further into his embrace, she smiled at the memory of their first night together. She shifted her head down to kiss his left arm which was woven through the curve between her skull and shoulders.

"I love you, Harry," she whispered, locating his leg with her foot and twisting around to pull him even closer. In those quiet moments of the night after the biggest breakdown she had ever experienced, she forgot completely about the blonde bastard who she had handed her virginity to. For those simple, quiet moments, her mind let her pretend that it was Harry - not Malfoy - that she was head-over-heels in love with.

And then, shortly after, when she was drifting back to sleep, Harry - wonderful Harry - nuzzled his face against the back of her neck and made it quite easy to pretend that he was in love with her, too.

**A/N**

**Another chapter finished :) The next chapter of "Can You Keep A Secret" is in the works, I promise. This one is just way more fun to write right now. Hope it wasn't too angsty or weird or anything. I'll try to update both of my stories again soon-ish, but no promises!**

**Reviews would be lovely!**

**Thanks :) **


	7. Run As Fast As You Can

**Chapter Seven - Run As Fast As You Can**

Their tent was set up in another forest that looked vaguely like the past five forests they had camped in. It was all becoming monotonous, bleeding together into one incomprehensible swirl of reading and sleeping and stressing out, set to a background of trees, dirt paths, and more goddamn trees. No one had spoken much for the past couple of days. Hermione was lost in her own thoughts, but not lost enough to not notice the way that the boys were tiptoeing around her, keeping their mouths shut and eyes peeled.

She hated to be coddled, and she resented them for doing it. It had been one, pathetic little meltdown. She had simply needed to cry, so she had cried for a few hours, passed out in Harry's arms, and slept for nearly twenty hours straight. It was over now, and it would never happen again, so they had both better remove their heads from their arses and stop staring at her like she was a mental case - or she would give them a nasty taste of what a mental case would actually be like.

Harry was plating up supper now and Ron moved briskly in front of her, grabbing his plate as well as her own, as if to imply that she wasn't even capable of carrying a plate now. Harry had refused to let her help with supper, as well, and when she moved to grab the pitcher of water and stack of glasses to carry them to the table, Harry immediately shuffled them up into his arms, shooting a crooked smile at her.

"That's enough!" she yelled, suddenly, startling Harry. He dropped the pitcher of water and stared down at the now-wet tent floor before shifting his glance over to her. "I am done being treated like a child," she announced. "I had a good cry, I slept for a bit too long, and now I am completely and totally fine! If the two of you don't stop treating me like a patient from a psych ward, I swear to Merlin I will use the killing curse on you both! Now, Harry, pick up that goddamn pitcher and hand it to me."

Harry reluctantly bent, picked up the pitcher, and extended it to her. She joined them at the table a few minutes later, sitting the pitcher down and taking her seat. No one spoke throughout the meal and neither boy said a word when Hermione gathered up their plates and glasses and carried them into the kitchen. She washed everything magically and put it away without interruption.

"We're really sorry, 'Mione," Ron said, as she walked calmly back to the table. "We weren't trying to upset you or anything."

"That's exactly the problem," she said, sighing. "Look, I know I fell apart a bit, but I've not gone mad or anything. I just had a… really bad argument and I needed to be upset for a day or two."

"We just don't like to see you hurt," Harry said. "We didn't want to do anything to make it worse."

"Then just be my best friends," she said, smiling. "I want to be around Harry and Ron, not some strange alien versions of the two of you."

"Thank Merlin," Ron breathed out. "I've been tense for days."

Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed lightly. "I'm a bit tired now, though," she told them. "I think I'm going to turn in early."

"Me too," Harry agreed, holding her gaze for a moment before she turned and walked into her room. She zipped herself into her room of the tent and was pulling her sweatshirt over her head when she heard fabric tearing quietly. She walked over to the spot on the fabric wall where a hole had appeared and watched it travel down the length of the wall, smiling widely at Harry as he stepped through.

"Hello," she greeted, fitting herself into his arms and sighing contentedly.

"Are you really tired already?" he asked. "It's only just after eight."

"No," she shook her head and looked up at him. "Actually, I was hoping you would join me because…" she trailed off, mimicking his lopsided grin before leaning up to kiss him. "Are you tired?" she asked, pulling back and raising an eyebrow.

"Not even remotely," he whispered, leaning down to bite her earlobe. "Merlin, I've missed you."

"I've been here," she said.

"You've been different," he disagreed. "You've been sad and distant."

"Well, I'm here now," she shrugged, sliding a hand up under his shirt, assuring them both that this would not stop with just a few kisses. "For what it's worth, though, I've missed you, too."

Harry kissed her again, reaching for the waistband of her jeans just as she reached for his. They giggled against each others mouths as they fumbled with belts and buttons and zippers, tugging and pulling and tripping over their own feet as they stripped each other down to only underwear. Hermione pulled him with her to the bed, pushing him backwards onto it and following him as he moved backwards, straining forward to kiss her neck and collarbone.

She straddled his waist, then, giving him another playful shove so that he laid flat as she kissed her way from his ear down to his bellybutton, slowing their pace to enjoy each moment of it. She took her time kissing him, roaming sporadically around his body, glancing up at him occasionally to watch his green eyes. He tolerated her explorations for almost ten minutes before dragging her back up to his lips and unfastening her bra as he crushed her body up against his.

She giggled happily as he flipped them over, and gasped as he started his own exploration. She knew she would never tire of the way that Harry appreciated her body. He took his time, and took notes - observing the way she reacted when he licked here or bit there, moving somewhere else, but then coming right back to that sensitive spot and grinning up at her wickedly as he made her shiver again.

By the time they were both done playing, she was buzzing with happiness and tingles. It took only a few calculated moves of his hip to push her over the edge. He kissed her, then, swallowing her gasps and moans as he worked towards building her up again. She had wondered a few times - though certainly not while it was happening - if she had simply been lucky in her choice of lovers, or if most males were capable of providing women with an average of two or three orgasms each time.

Just after Harry had ensured her third climax before enjoying his own, they were twisted together, breathing heavily. She wondered, then, why she had decided to wait so long to sleep with Harry again. She felt so light and happy now, and smiled as she cemented into her brain again that this was what it felt like to have sex with someone who loved you back.

"You're really great," Harry breathed out, kissing her forehead.

"You're amazing," Hermione said, snuggling against his chest. "Gods, you're amazing."

Harry chuckled, only to be cut off by Hermione's hand on his chest. He looked down at her face, noting her wide eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Did you cast a silencing spell?" she whispered, sitting up and pulling the sheets around her. It took Harry a moment to register the significance of her question. When he did, though, his expression made it obvious that he hadn't. And since she hadn't… "Oh, gods," Hermione groaned, dropping her chin to her chest. There was no way that Ron hadn't heard their little romp.

"I'll talk to him, if you want," Harry offered, sitting up and wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"He's going to be furious," Hermione said. "We should both do it. Or maybe we should just not talk about it and see if he says something."

"He's going to say something," Harry said.

"But maybe he won't…" Hermione interjected, hopefully. Hermione gave her a halfhearted smile and kissed her cheek.

"I'll go," he said, sliding off the bed and pulling on his jeans. She sighed and got off of the bed, too, pulling her clothes back on and following him out of the room.

* * *

Ron glared at them for nearly ten minutes when they sat down across the table from him. Hermione felt like crying as she watched his face. Harry slid his hand into hers underneath the table and squeezed comfortingly.

"You couldn't have used a silencing spell?" Ron finally asked.

"We forgot," Harry said, apologetically. "We usually-"

"Usually?" Ron yelled. "That wasn't the first time?"

"Erm, no," Harry said.

"How long?" Ron asked, fuming.

"A few weeks," Hermione spoke up.

"So you two were screwing in my attic? With Bill in the room?"

"Bill was with Fleur," she said.

"I can't believe this," Ron shook his head. "Harry you know how I-"

"How you feel about me?" Hermione cut him off. "You're with Lavender, so any feelings you've previously had for me are moot, Ronald."

"But it breaks the friend code!"

"There's a code that is supposed to let you be committed to one girl but have some kind of claim on another girl, too?" Hermione asked, disbelieving. "That's utterly ridiculous, Ronald. Besides, it implies that I'm some kind of property that you have some stake in."

"I liked you first," Ron grumbled. "Harry wasn't supposed to date you."

"Well, it's not like you were," Hermione said. "And, not to rub salt in any wounds, but I'm not going to date either one of you, so there's no point arguing about it."

"But you just…" Ron trailed off, confused.

"Harry and I are having a mature, consenting relationship, Ronald," Hermione sighed. "Everyone on the entire planet knows that Harry is in love with Ginny."

"So you're throwing yourself at him anyway?" Ron asked.

"Hermione is in a… similar situation," Harry offered. Hermione pushed back a sudden, stabbing sadness that tried to overtake her, then.

"So you're fuck buddies?" Ron spat.

"Mature adults in a consenting relationship," Hermione corrected, wincing. "We're best friends, and we do love each other, but we're both in love with other people that we can't have. I'm not looking for your consent for this, Ronald," Hermione paused, giving him a pointed look. "I'm not asking for your forgiveness, either, because I haven't done anything to apologize for. But I do want your support. You're my best friend, too, and I hope you'll understand."

Run sputtered for a few moments before giving up and sighing. "So, you really like each other?" he asked.

"Of course I like her," Harry laughed. "She's Hermione."

"And he's Harry," Hermione agreed.

"This is fucked up," Ron muttered. "I'm going to bed so that I can wake up tomorrow and pretend that this was all just some wonky dream."

After Ron disappeared behind his zipped-up door, Hermione waited for an appropriate amount of time before looking up to lock eyes with Harry. "That could have gone worse," she said.

"Could have not happened at all, though," Harry laughed as he stood up and extended his hand to her. She watched him for a minute, enjoying his features as he smiled at her, before accepting his hand and letting him pull her into his bedroom for another round.

They made damn sure to use a silencing spell this time.

* * *

It took an entire week for Ron to be even remotely comfortable around his two best friends after finding out about their secret relationship. Their meals were quiet and awkward, but Harry and Hermione's alone time had been very productive and eventful the past week. She'd wondered once when she was younger if people ever got tired of having sex. With the slowly building repertoire of experiences under her belt, though, she was finding it safe to assume that sex was not something that she would get tired of any time in the near future.

Why stop a good thing, after all? She felt better than she'd felt in years. Perhaps she had indeed been walking around with a broomstick up her arse. Perhaps she had just needed a few good shaggings to mellow her out. It felt fantastic to be this relaxed and comfortable.

Unfortunately, though, they were doing a bit too much relaxing and not quite enough studying and researching. On the one week anniversary of Ron finding out about her relationship with Harry, Hermione had a minor anxiety attack as she fully realized the near insignificant amount of research she had done in the past week. She'd done research, of course, but it had had nothing to do with horcruxes and entirely too much to do with a green eyed boy's musculature.

After recovering from the brief bout of anxiety, she had gathered a stack of books and curled herself up in her bed to begin reading. It was at that exact moment that she felt something she hadn't felt in almost two weeks: a sharp pain shooting up her arm.

She panicked, slamming the book shut and racing out of her bedroom and into the kitchen where the boys were cleaning up after their late supper.

"Hey, 'Mione," Harry greeted her. Ron rolled his eyes, but she ignored both of them, waving her hands to cut off any further small talk.

"I've got to run," she said, shooting a meaningful look at Harry. "I don't know what he wants this time, but I'll come back as soon as I can. I'll message you with this, ok?" she held up the coin around her neck - similar to the ones they had used for the meetings of Dumbledore's Army - and then rushed forward to hug Ron and then kiss Harry on the cheek. "Don't wait up for me," she warned before disappearing out of the front of the tent.

She nearly sprinted to get outside of the protective net of spells that they had placed that morning and then apparated away in the middle of a confused conversation between Ron and Harry.

* * *

There was blood all over the floor. It was the first thing she noticed when she walked through the doorway: a dark red pool of pure, perfect, Malfoy blood. She followed it back to its genesis, staring warily at the disgustingly deep gash on his forearm. It looked as if he had been trying to play connect the dots with his elbow and wrist. She wanted to puke, hating and pitying him simultaneously, twining the two emotions together in her shocked mind and wondering why the hell he had done it. She wondered, furthermore, why he had called her.

Did he think she deserved to watch him die? Did he want to make her feel guilty for not coming back for nearly two weeks? She had owled Snape to assure that Draco would have food and some semblance of company. She had tried everything to make the bastard care about her - given him all but the crumbs of her soul, only to be completely humiliated and degraded. She had not expected much in return for it all. Common decency was not a terrible thing to ask for in return for a heart and soul. But he couldn't even handle that, the prat. He had called her the nastiest names and shoved it all back in her face, topping it all off by calling her here to watch his pathetic life bleed out all over the goddamn wooden floor. He-

Her mind suddenly sprang to life.

He hadn't called her.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, pulling out her wand with one hand and checking for a pulse on his neck with the other. It was faint, but still present. She snapped her attention to her wand, then began spouting out healing spells at a clipped pace, covering all of the bases as she chewed on her lip.

The curse had called her of its own accord because Draco Malfoy was dying.

Now that her mind was functioning again, she noticed that the color and thickness of the blood on the floor indicated that he had been bleeding for a while. She remembered now as she watched his arms heal, that the only time the curse would react without the incantation was if one of them was dying. She had hunted down literature on the damn thing after he had finally admitted the name to her, memorizing each word of the effects and symptoms of the curse.

He had not done this on purpose, and she now knew. He had no idea that she would have been called here, which meant that this scene had been intended for Snape. Snape was the one who locked him up here, after all. Or maybe the blonde, dying bastard hoped that Hermione would eventually give in and come back to see him. Maybe it had been intended for her. There was really no way of knowing, was there?

She checked his pulse again, with her wand this time, noting his respirations and o2 saturation as well, and breathed a sigh of relief when each vital registered in the normal range. She had saved him.

She stripped his shirt off, then, leaving the blood-drenched piece of fabric on the floor as she levitated him up the stairs and into his bed. He showed no signs of consciousness as she pulled the blankets up to his collar bones then took a step back, watching him carefully.

She reached up to massage away a sudden headache and tried to figure out what to do next. Was Draco's attempted suicide a sound enough reason for Snape to walk away from whatever other duties he had? She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Draco was hidden here so that he would be safe from both the light and the dark side, so Snape would not be able to disclose to anyone why he was disappearing for a few days.

She sat down at the end of his bed, exhausted and defeated. She would have to stay with him. If she didn't, he would simply do it again, and she would be forced to come and heal him again. She didn't have time to play games. She would stay until she could ensure that he was mentally sound. It was the only logical option.

She grasped the coin which was still hung on a chain around her neck, sending off a quick message - "he atmptd suicide. must stay. ily." - and charmed it so it would only appear on Harry's coin. After checking his vitals one last time, she conjured herself a blanket and curled up at the foot of his bed.

* * *

He was staring at her when she woke up. Her heart pounded furiously for a few moments as she blinked up at him helplessly.

"Those are for you," he announced, pointing to a plate with pancakes on it. It was an immediate confirmation that he was still not mentally sound. He sat at the head of the bed - the crazy man who had just made her pancakes after narrowly surviving a suicide attempt - and produced a second plate of pancakes from the bedside table. She sat up slowly, as if he were a finicky chipmunk and would be scared away if startled.

They ate in silence, sitting cross-legged and facing each other. She was starting to detest meal times, since they always seemed to be like this now: silent, awkward, terrible, and awkward. When they were finished, he took both of their plates, padding quietly down to the kitchen. She briefly wondered if she should follow him - would he try it again, with her sitting just twenty feet away? - but stayed where she was, listening intently to each sound he made as he washed the dishes.

She half expected him to stay downstairs, but was proven wrong when he padded back up the stairs and settled back into his previous position, continuing to stare at her.

"I didn't call you," he stated.

"Not on purpose," she said.

"I promise," he said, defensive. Sad.

"I didn't want you to… see it."

"Well, I did."

"Your lip was bleeding," he commented.

"I bit it when I was healing you," she said, finding a dark sense of joy at the wave of guilt in his eyes. "It's only a flesh wound."

"Only a flesh wound," he repeated distantly, glancing down at his arms and furrowing his eyebrows at the pink scars.

"They'll be gone by tonight," she assured him. "You'll have no more evidence."

"Except what's in my head. In your head."

"There are spells to fix that," she shrugged. "The wonderful benefits that go with being a wizard."

"I wish you had let me die," he said, suddenly angry. "No one was supposed to know."

"Well, I apologize for being a decent human being," she snarled.

"I deserved it," he told her. "Deserved death and the hell that loomed after it."

"Not quite," she laughed bitterly. "But you're working towards that goal."

"Anything would be better than this."

"It's just a cabin," she mocked. "There are worse things than being trapped in a cabin, you prat. Like Azkaban or being tortured."

"You don't know anything," he growled. "You're supposed to be the smartest witch Hogwarts has ever seen, but you can't even figure this out, can you?"

"Figure out why you tried to bleed to death?" she asked, incredulous. "I've just told you! You're so spoiled and selfish and terrible and you couldn't spend one more second locked up in here by yourself because it was making you realize how disgusting and pathetic you really are."

"Wrong!" he yelled. "But, oh, how I wish you were right. Do you want to know why I did it, Granger? Want to know what was eating at me so badly that the only way to stop it was to bleed it out all over the floor?" She stared at him as he paused, giving her ample time to respond before he accused, " you did, Granger." and pointed a shaking finger at her.

"Bullshit," she called, shaking her head.

"No," he shook his head right back, laughing sardonically. "No, I wish it was. But, see, the problem is that I'm so disgusting and selfish that I just couldn't spend one more second locked in here by myself because," he paused, breathing heavily, "because it just kept making me realize how pathetic I was for falling in love with Hermione fucking Granger."

Half of her heart slid down towards her intestines while the other half soared out of her chest, trying to fill her head with happy and hopeful thoughts. He was a lying bastard and she would not - could not- trust anything he said, no matter how much she wanted to. So she took a moment to compose herself, shoving that hopeful, stupid, fluttery part of her heart right back down where it belonged.

"I tried to make it stop," he informed her, sounding spiteful. "Tried everything I could to stop caring about you and missing you. I thought that I just wanted the sex and your body. Then I got them both, used them until I was sated, but there was still this awful, deafening, crippling pain of wanting to just hold you, smell, you listen to you. So I sent you away. I said the nastiest words I could think of to break you down so you would stop coming back. I thought maybe if you left for good, it would all finally disappear.

"But then I just sat on my goddamn couch, all fucking day, hating myself. It's all I've done since you left, Granger. I hated that I wanted you and I couldn't stand it anymore, so I laid down on the floor to end it all for good. Then I woke up on my bed, not dead, to see you laying there like some perfect fucking angel. Congratulations to you, Hermione fucking Granger, for continuing to save my pathetic joke of a life. You should be sainted. You're the only person in the world who has enough blind compassion to keep running back to a sad son of a bitch like me. Do you enjoy the pain, Granger? I fucking don't. But you drug me back to the surface to rub my face in-"

"That's enough," she interrupted, her voice ice cold. "No more verbal abuse or bullshit. I am only staying here until I am sure you're stable."

"You'd better settle, in, then," he warned, maliciously. "I've gone fucking crazy, remember? Fucking mudbloods and falling for Hermione Granger. It's a mental ward for me, now."

"I said no more bullshit," she snarled. "You and I are going to sit here on this goddamn bed until the end of this fucking world if we have to. You've taken the easy way out too many times, and I'm not letting you do it again. You let everyone choose your life for you from the minute you were born, but then you didn't even have the balls to do what was required of you. It's why you're locked up here, now, Malfoy. You should have just killed the old man so that you could go on letting everyone else make all of the hard choices for you."

"I never wanted to kill him," Draco said, furious.

"Then you should have spoken up," she pressed. "You should have said something before they branded you with that goddamn Mark! You're pathetic."

"So we established," he scoffed. "You just keep running back here to me and making me feel like even more of a pathetic fuck up, too. I can't stand how pristine you are, Granger. Even after weeks of picking up nasty cursing habits and losing every bit of innocence you had to spare, you're still this optimistic, compassionate, mess of a human being. How did I not break you?"

"Why did you want to?" she asked. "If you love me, like you claim to, then why did you want to break me?"

"Because I can' t stand it!" he yelled. "You're untouchable!"

"You've touched me more than once," she snorted.

"I know!" he agreed. "I took your virginity and anything else I could go along the way. I fucked you over so many times I've lost count now. You visited me almost every other day for nearly three months, bringing me food and teaching me how to survive, without ever having to be asked."

"Snape asked me to," she corrected.

"He asked you to bring me food," Draco argued. "He never asked you to teach me how to make goddamn pancakes or wash laundry. Hell, _I_ didn't even ask you for any of the help you gave me! I took it, though. I played your stupid card games and learned to cook and clean and care. You reeled me in so artfully that I didn't even realize it. It was weeks before I registered that I wasn't simply fucking you, I was laying in bed with you and smelling your goddamn hair.

"I couldn't help myself, Granger. You're too good not to love. There is nothing about you to hate, except that there is nothing about you to hate! It's infuriating! You smell nice, you look nice, you act nice, and you _are_ nice. I bet you don't even bleed real blood. I bet you're made of one hundred percent pure sugar. It's sickening sometimes.

"As soon as I realized what was happening, I knew I had to make it stop. I couldn't find anything wrong with you, so the only option was to break you."

"But why?" she asked gain. "Why do you have to break me?"

"I can't love you," he said.

"Why not?"

"It's terrible," he shook his head. "It's unbearable."

"It's terrible to want me?" she asked, grimacing.

"It's terrible because I will never, ever deserve you. And I refuse to be just another one of your fucking charity cases. I refuse, Granger. Do you understand?"

"What ever made you think that you were a charity case? You think I don't know that you're the most stubborn and prideful person on the entire face of the planet? I know damn well that you are not to be pitied - that you don't deserve to be pitied! I won't lie and tell you that it didn't start out of pity because you certainly were pitiful the first night you were here.

"But I kept coming back because you wanted to, not because you would die without me. You were different in here, Malfoy. You were approachable and tangible and I thought you could be different. But then you sucked me in, in the most charming and deceitful ways, just to try to destroy me."

"You've got it wrong," he interjected. "You sucked me in, Granger, with your silly games and swaying hips. I was hypnotized. I told you so."

"You knew me, though," she said. "You knew coming into this what kind of person I was. You knew exactly who I was and what I stood for."

"I thought I did," he admitted, "but you were so much more than I'd ever imagined. You're a strange kind of masterpiece and I just can't stop staring at you. I don't want to."

His words hung in the air, floating around in the tense silence that followed. They sat there, still staring at each other, both trying so hard to hold themselves together. Hermione watched his eyes, cataloguing the evident internal struggle that flashed through them. He _had_ changed in here. He _was_ different. But there was no trusting him now. Not even with his eyes backing up all of the conflicting things he had said.

She had Harry now, and Harry was good enough. She didn't need Draco nearly as much as she had previously thought, did she? Harry made her happy. Harry loved her and cared for her more than Draco ever could. Harry could fill any empty spaces left behind by Draco, couldn't he?

As she stared into the blue eyes of the man who had attempted to take everything from her, though, she could not convince herself that anyone else would ever be enough. Perhaps it was because Draco had been her first - in so many ways. It could be because he was difficult and challenging. Or maybe it was because, as he had said, she was masochistic and pathetic underneath it all. Whatever the reason, though, she loved him. More than she would ever love Harry or anyone else. And that was something that Harry would never be able to fix.

"I can't do this anymore," Hermione broke the silence. The room was suddenly too small; she was starting to forget how to breathe again. "I am too physically and mentally exhausted to continue loving someone like you."

His expression was unreadable, eyes suddenly blank.

"I'm going to tell Snape what's happened," she said. "He'll find someone else to come take care of you."

"Don't," Draco said. It was not a command, but a request. "I'll be better."

"You won't."

"I will," he said, clambering across the bed to sit directly in front of her. "I can."

"You don't want to," she shook her head.

"I can't feel like that ever again," he said. "I don't want to be that pathetic person who just laid down to die. You were right about me, and you always have been. I've just sat back my entire life and let everything happen to me. But I can't do it anymore. I don't want to be that person anymore."

"But you don't want to be the person that I want, either."

"And you won't accept me as I am?" he asked. The words stung.

"In this moment, yes," she said, choosing her response carefully. "But you won't be like this tomorrow. You're just saying this because you're traumatized and upset."

"I don't know what else you want me to say, Granger."

"Nothing, Malfoy," she shook her head. "Nothing that you can say will prove it to me. You've fooled me one too many times now for me to believe that your words mean anything at all."

"Then what can I do?" he asked. She watched his hesitation as he slowly reached out his hand to hers. He looked up at her, trying to locate some kind of sign, but gave up and took her hand anyway. "I don't want to love you," he said. "I wouldn't love you if I had the choice. But I don't have an option."

"I don't want to love you, either," she said, letting a sudden tear run over her cheek. "It's too much, I need to go."

"Stay," he pleaded, with his voice and eyes and face. "Just… can I hold you?" she opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off, placing a finger to her lips. "You can leave in the morning if you want," he promised, "but stay here with me today."

* * *

It was dark when she woke up. It was only four a.m. according to the digital clock on his bedside table. She shifted slightly - as much as his tight grip on her would allow - and sighed. She would not have stayed, but she could not find it in her to leave.

He had been on his best behavior and she had been on edge the entire time. He had produced a deck of cards, coaxing her into playing a few rounds of his favorite game before producing a puzzle from his closet. They barely spoke as they put the pieces together, using Hermione's strategy of sorting out the edges first and making a frame before slowly filling it in. It took them nearly six hours to fit all 1,000 pieces together, but they managed to accomplish it.

After the puzzle was finished they had silently agreed to make dinner, somehow managing to cook side by side without uttering a single word. After all of the dishes were cleaned and put away, he had taken her hand and led her up the stairs. She had not hesitated to lie down beside him; there was an inexplicable comfort that came from being pressed up against his form.

Every pull and tug had indicated just how much he wanted her there - needed her there - and she could not have left even if she had wanted to.

**A/N**

**It has been forever. Sorry, sorry, sorry! I have one page written for the next chapter of CYCAS, but I am completely incapable of finishing it right now for some reason. This chapter has been done for about a week, but I hadn't gotten around to editing it until today. So... yeah. Lots of apologies :( but I made the chapter a little bit longer in hopes that you'll all forgive me and send me lots of lovely reviews :) **

**Thanks!**


	8. I've Got More Wit, A Better Kiss

**Chapter Eight - I've Got More Wit, A Better Kiss. **

The galleon burning against her skin was a terrible – literal - wake up call. She elbowed herself out of Draco's arms to pull the damn coin away from her sternum. "worried. miss you. come home," the message read. She grabbed her wand from the bedside table and responded, "when he wakes up. soon."

"What are you doing?" Draco's gravelly voice startled her. She flipped over to face him, eyes wide for one stunned moment.

"Replying to Harry," she breathed out. Her heart rate decreased to a normal pace. "They're like the galleons we used in Dumbledore's Army."

"You're leaving," he stated, uninterested in her silly tricks.

"They need me," she answered.

"And I don't?" he scoffed. And he was right. He was screwed up and screwed over and he needed her. Everything about his body language over the past 24 hours had been screaming just how much he needed her. He was a pathetic wreck.

"We're working to win the war," she insisted. "It's complicated. I have so much reading to catch up on and-"

"Read here," he commanded, adding "please," when she laughed at him.

"They need me just as much as you do," she told him. "They depend on me, to. And they're working to save the entire wizarding community. What we're doing is… important."

"They depend on your brain," he argued. "You can be smart from here."

"They're my best friends."

"But I need you."

She rolled off of the bed then, tired of arguing with him. He followed her silently down the stairs and watched as she put her coat on and tied her shoes. He did not move until she reached for the door handle; he was suddenly across the room, towering over her.

"You'll come back?" he asked.

"I can't choose you," she said, biting her lip. "They're my best friends."

"But I need you," he said. "Damn it, Granger, I can't be here by myself anymore."

"I told you I'd find-"

"No one else will do," he cut her off.

"And no one else will do for them, either."

"They just need your brain, Granger."

"No," she shook her head. "They fall apart, too. They love me, too."

"Weasel loves you, you mean," he sneered.

"Harry," she corrected, looking up into his eyes then to catch his reaction. Her heart was pounding in her ears as she tried to stifle an intense feeling of guilt. She didn't owe Draco anything. He had never promised her a future or a commitment. There was no need to feel guilty. "Harry loves me."

A look of understanding crossed Draco's face. Perhaps he had seen her guilt. Or maybe he'd known for some time that she was with someone else.

"You screwed him," Draco stated. She did not respond. "When you left me those times," he went on. "You slept with Potter."

"I did," she stated. "You don't own me."

"I never presumed to," he agreed, emotionless. "And will you do it again?"

"I won't make any promises," she answered truthfully. There was no way to be sure of what Draco would do to her next. He could be lying through his teeth about his feelings for her. His feelings for her could mean nothing at all, in fact. He could still crush her to pieces and walk away without a single glance backwards because Draco Malfoy was a heartless Death Eater. Wasn't he?

A "heartless Death Eater" who was in love with a mudblood and couldn't even harm a sick, old man.

"I don't care," he said, breaking the sustained silence. "I don't care what you did or who you did it with. But if you come back, you're mine. Do you understand?"

"If I come back," she said, "I am still my own person with my own rights. I will not promise you anything."

"I never would have guessed that you would be the one resistant to commitment, Granger," he laughed dryly.

"You never said anything about a mutual, consenting type of commitment," she retorted.

"I am quite obviously incapable of being committed to anyone but you in my present situation," he said.

"Exactly," she agreed, "just in your present situation. When this is not your situation anymore, the commitment will be absolved."

"Believe what you want," he said.

"I don't have time to finish this conversation," she told him. "I've left them long enough."

He did not step back, still towering over her and staring down at her. "You'll come back?" he asked a few moments later.

She bit her lip, fingering the galleon around her neck. He was such an infuriating bastard sometimes. But they both knew that she could not leave him for long. She stood on tiptoes, then, her mind made up. She kissed his smooth, pale cheek and whispered, "I love you, Draco Malfoy."

"Then come back," he said.

She nodded once and then left, too over come with the gravity of the past ten minutes to do anything else.

* * *

Harry greeted her at the tent door with a suffocating hug and a kiss. Ron groaned in protest behind them and mumbled something about sharing saliva being positively disgusting.

"We thought you were never coming back," Harry said, leading her inside. "Ron made waffles," he added, gesturing to the table.

"Oh, I can't really stay long," Hermione admitted. Harry grimaced. Ron tossed his hands in the air and set about mumbling again as he stalked into the kitchen.

"Where are you going now?" Harry asked, guiding her to the table.

"I need to go back," she said. "He tried to kill himself, Harry. He's not well. And, besides, I can do my reading anywhere." Draco's point on that matter had been valid.

"So you're picking him over us," Harry clarified.

"I won't be there all of the time," she defended herself.

"But every night?" Harry asked. His expression made it very clear that his wording had been chosen carefully. Was she really going to choose Draco's arms over Harry's? Would Draco – who had broken her heart countless times – really come out the victor in this battle?

"I'll still be contributing to the mission," she said. "All I do is research."

"Then we'll let you lead the field work. Hell, you can do it all yourself if you want! Just don't leave us for… for whoever he is!"

"She's leaving us for some guy?" Ron interjected, wandering back in from the kitchen. "Who is he?"

"She can't tell us," Harry sneered.

"I can't," Hermione repeated, in defense. "I don't understand why you're so upset over this, Harry. I would understand if you were doing this for Ginny."

"She'll never need me," Harry laughed mirthlessly. "She's never even realized I exist."

"But you love her anyway," Hermione said.

"Not anymore," Harry shook his head. "And that's the real kick in the bullocks, isn't it? I stopped loving one uncatchable girl just to fall for another one."

"It's not the same kind of love," she said, as if to assure him.

"Right," he agreed. "It's even worse with you, 'Mione. I've actually kissed you, held you, and woken up with you in my arms. I've spent hours pretending that you love me, too."

"Oh, Harry," she whispered. "I do love you."

"But not as much as you love him, right?" Harry scoffed. "He's terrible, 'Mione. You've come home crying so many times because of him! He doesn't even love you. But I do. I've been here for you and you're still choosing him over me."

"He loves me, too."

"No," Harry shook his head. "He doesn't love you if he treats you like this."

"He's trying," she said. "If you knew him you would understand. He's not lying this time." So far, at least. "But even if he was, I can't choose who I love. Don't you think that I wish it wasn't him? It would be so much easier if you were the one for me."

"You never even gave me a chance," he said, defeated and sad. "You'll never give me a chance. And now I can't even pretend."

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said, curling herself against him as a tear slid down her cheek. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

Draco did not say anything when she reentered the cabin. He was sitting on the floor a few feet from the door, a blank expression on his face and his legs crossed Indian style. She sat on his couch and pulled a book out of her bag.

It was hours before either of them moved. Draco stood first and disappeared into the kitchen to make dinner. She carried her book to the table, ignoring him through the entire meal. She knew he was watching her the entire time, but she had to prove to Harry and Ron that this plan would work.

Each time Harry passed through her brain, a painful wound broke open. Poor, wonderful, fantastic, lovely Harry… gods she did love him. It was breaking her in two to know how much she was hurting him. She was no better than Draco now – loving Harry as best she could. It would never be enough, though. Not as long as Draco existed.

When they were finished eating, she finally closed her book. She did the dishes as an unspoken thanks for the dinner. When she had dried her hands off afterward, she moved to pick up her book again. A large hand stopped her.

"You've done enough," he said, pushing the book across the table so hard that it nearly fell to the floor. "You should rest."

"And by 'rest' you mean lay in bed with you, right?" she rolled her eyes.

"I want you here."

"I've been here all day!"

"Physically, yes."

"I have to study," she said.

"Then you might as well just be there!" he yelled. "You ignored me the entire day."

"Then I'll just leave now," she said, stalking into the living room to gather her things.

"That's not what I want!" he protested. He took her bag from her, dumping its contents on the floor. She wanted to slap him. " I want you here. Next to me." He emphasized his request by pulling her against him.

"Then sit next to me," she suggested, snarkily. She was standing completely still, refusing to touch him. "I've still got to research, though. You can't have everything you want. You've not idea how much I'm hurting them by choosing you."

"They'll survive," he said. His wording clearly implied that he, however, would not survive. The almost invisible marks on his wrists were perfect proof of that, weren't they? He rested his cheek against the top of her head. She was only barely suppressing her desire to hold him. It was so difficult to stay angry with him. He pulled her closer, nuzzling into each crevice of herself – not caring that she did not nuzzle back.

"They love me, too," she reminded him. "Harry loves me. Better than you do."

"Then why are you here, with me?" he retorted, tracing a design onto her back. "If Potter pleases you so much, then why aren't you off fucking him right now?"

"I'm not fucking anyone right now," she said. She was struggling against his grip, now. "I want to leave."

"No," he shook his head. "You don't. You chose me."

"He loves me, too," she reiterated. "He wouldn't hurt me."

"I'll be good," he murmured. "Be nice."

"You never are," she sighed, still pushing to escape.

"Nicer," he corrected himself. "Better. Not the best, but just better."

"It's not enough."

"No," he disagreed. "Potter's not enough."

"Neither are you."

"But I'm better."

"At what?" she scoffed. She was beyond annoyed with his relaxed and casual state now. "At sex? At loving? At being a decent human being?"

"At being what you want."

"He has everything that I want," she insisted. "He's wonderful."

"You don't want someone who can fill out some check-list of desirable traits. You want challenges and games. You want excitement and surprise. Maybe your brain wants to want him, but your body wants me," he touched a sensitive spot and smirked as she broke out in gooseflesh.

"He can make me shiver, too," she said, unimpressed.

"Your heart wants me, too. Can he do that?" He caught her chin with his fingers and tilted her face up. "Look in my eyes and tell me you want him more."

"I do," she said, defiant.

"You don't," he shook his head. "You just _want_ to want him more. It's not the same. You can't think your way into love with someone, Granger. You can't control this."

"I can control how I respond to it, "she said. She swallowed hard, willing herself not to break their gaze. She would not back down. But it was near impossible to hate him when looking into his eyes.

"And you're doing exactly what you should."

"Fighting you?"

"Staying," he corrected. "Giving in. You stopped fighting, see?" He placed his hands on top of her hands – which were wrapped around his neck. She did not remember giving in. "You love me most," he stated. He lined his face up with hers, connecting noses and foreheads.

"I can't stand you," she said. She did not pull back, though.

"That's ok," he said, rubbing her lower back. "You're not the most pleasant company, either." And then she let him kiss her – kissed him back – because the handsome devil was right. Her eyes filled with tears, for Harry, as a part of her protested her choice.

The rest of her body, though, contorted itself against the boy that she would always choose first.

* * *

She did not have sex with Draco. She got so caught up in the kissing and caressing that she didn't notice he had stripped them both bare – until his hand glided over her hipbone on its way to less innocent places.

"No," she said abruptly. She disentangled herself from him and rolled onto her side, facing away from him. He was spooned against her back a moment later, arms wrapped around her - touching only socially acceptable places - on his best behavior. She sighed. She was exhausted and he was respecting her orders. There was no sense in pushing him away.

So she slept. Dreamt. Relaxed.

* * *

"I could help you," Draco offered the next afternoon.

"I'd rather read it myself," she declined. They were still in bed. He had been watching her for hours now. She had found it unnerving at first, but after a couple of minutes she was too caught up in her reading to pay him any attention. Now, his head was resting on her stomach, rising and falling with each breath she took.

"I meant that I could give you information," he clarified. She moved her book to one side, taking in his expression to determine if he was lying or not. She was a bit embarrassed now, realizing that she had never thought to ask him before. She rationalized, though, that he would certainly have said no if she had been the one to present the idea.

"And who would I say I got the information from?" she asked.

"They'll take your word," he said. "They trust you."

"They used to," she corrected. "Before I broke their hearts."

"Were you screwing the weasel, too?" Draco asked, suddenly a bit enraged.

"No," she replied. "Not that it makes a difference."

"It does," he said. "Potter is remotely acceptable. He's a bit of a celebrity, at least. He's not a complete idiot."

"Ronald and I are celebrities, too," she protested. "We're two parts of the Golden Trio. Harry Potter's best friends."

"And his fuck buddy, as well," Draco added. She grimaced.

"Harry and I were partaking in a mature, consenting relationship."

"You were both horny, bored, and alone," Draco interpreted.

"It's not even important anymore!" she exclaimed.

"Because you love me most," he agreed, smirking. She moved the book back to cover his face but he pushed it aside.

"They won't take my word for it," she said, returning to their previous topic.

"Then bring them here," he said. His expression held no suggestion of joke or foul play.

"They'll think I've gone mad," she said, sitting up. He sat up, too, facing her. "They know I love you. Well, they know I'm in love with the mystery person who cursed me into taking care of him."

"Perhaps you _have_ gone mad," he shrugged.

"No," she responded, "you're the one who's gone 'round the bend. You're offering to help us - the light side. Why?"

"Basic survival strategy, Granger. I help the Golden Trio defeat the Dark Lord, Harry helps me remove all charges against my name, and then I am a free man."

"A free man trapped in a cabin," she laughed. "If you let Snape be convicted of murder, he can't let you out."

"I'll tell him I've decided to go to the Order for protection."

"Why would they protect you?" Why would they trust you?"

"I'll make an unbreakable vow to one of the members."

"To do what? To never lie again?"

"No," he shook his head. "To never betray."

"That's a large promise to make."

"Only to one person."

"And who would that be? Snape? He's not entirely trusted, you know. He's a spy."

"I meant you," he clarified.

"You would take an Unbreakable Vow promising not to be tray me?"

"Yes."

"There are lots of ways you can betray someone, Malfoy. I don't think you want to promise that. Besides, why would you want to be loyal to the Order?"

"I wouldn't be," he said. She raised an eybrow. "I would only be loyal to you. It's the perfect solution. I don't end up trapped in a cabin or in Azkaban, and you can finally trust me. I'd literally die if I betrayed you."

"I still don't understand," she said. She fell back onto the bed.

"Freedom," he said. "I don't have to be loyal to either side and I don't have to be in prison. I am completely free."

"Except that you can't betray me…"

"We would have to form a concrete definition of what betrayal implies," he conceded. He laid down next to her, spooning against her side. His forehead rested against her cheek and his breath tickled her neck. He was so nice like this - childlike and sweet. She did not even remotely trust that this lighter side of him would remain forever, though. He was not prone to be related to such adjectives as "sweet" and "nice."

"And what if you decide to leave one day?" she asked.

"Well, I guess I would only be able to leave if you approved," he said.

"So you'd still be trapped."

"You would hold me captive?"

"You would leave the person who helped save your life?" she countered. He sat up, moving over her.

"You would con me into staying with you?"

"It would be pointless," she sighed. "If you want to leave me, you'll find a way. You don't do anything that you don't want to do. You're Draco Malfoy."

"And you're Hermione Granger, the girl I unwillingly fell in love with while I was trapped in a cabin because I couldn't murder a wrinkly old man," he smirked, proud to have proved her wrong. "I don't see why I would leave you, Granger. Not after you stuck your neck out for me. But that doesn't mean I'll always agree with you."

"You've never agreed with me," she said. "I just don't think you're really thinking about this. You'll change your mind when you're free. You'll be a war hero if you help us. You'll have all kinds of press coverage. You'll be just as famous as the rest of us."

"It won't change anything," he said, confidently. "Believe me, I have tried hard to change it. These feelings aren't going anywhere and you aren't going anywhere. It's hopeless."

"So you're going to back up my side of the war?"

"I'm not picking sides," he shook his head. "I'm doing what's best for me. And what's best for me is for the war to be over so I can be free."

"But you won't be," she protested. "Not if you're stuck with me."

"You're inevitable, Granger." He shook his head.

"Yes," she agreed, "right now I am. While you're locked in a cabin with me as your only hope for survival. It's easy to love me now."

"It's never easy to love you," he laughed. "You're the most stubborn and difficult person I know. Look, it's not as if I'm saying I'll marry you and live in a house with rose bushes and germ infested children-"

"Good," she muttered. "I never asked you to marry me, you prat.

"Good, because that won't be happening," he assured her. "I'm not one for relationships and commitment."

"Then forget it," she sat up suddenly, knocking him onto his back. "Forget it all. I want commitment at the very least. I am not a common street whore, Malfoy. I am a respectable woman and I will not stand and watch while you sleaze around with other women!"

"But it's ok for you to sleaze around with Potter?"

"It was a-"

"Mature, consenting relationship?" he mocked. "Sure. But you were in my bed one night and his the next. Consenting and mature or not, that was certainly sleazy, Granger."

"You said disgusting things to me," she defended herself. "I thought our toxic… whatever this is was over."

"I intended to end it, remember? But you came back."

"In the real world, I won't," she said. "The circumstances are different here. If you pull any tricks like that outside of these walls, you will not get the same results."

"I'm done playing tricks, " he said. He shifted, then and kissed the small of her back.

"You're never done being manipulative and conniving," she disagreed.

"We'll just include it in the Vow," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"We will include in the vow that you consider me fucking other people to be a betrayal."

"But then-"

"You'll be completely responsible for satisfying my libido," he finished for her. He smirked proudly when she twisted around to glare at him.

"You won't be able to have sex with anyone else," she stated.

"That's the point, yes."

"You have gone mad," she said. "That sounds remarkably like a commitment, you know?"

"So it does," he shrugged."

"You're committed to me?"

"I'm not changing for you, Granger," he said, a warning tone to his voice. "If you want this, you have to take me exactly as I am. Just because I will commit to an exclusive sexual relationship with you does not mean that you'll be getting any birthday presents or Valentines Day gifts or-"

She silenced him with a kiss, pulling away with a mischievous look to ask, "so, you want me to be your girlfriend?"

"Exclusive shag partner," he said.

"Girlfriend," she persisted, straddling his abdomen.

"Fuck buddy," he countered.

"Girlfriend." She pinned his arms above his head.

"Friend with benefits," he resisted playfully against her grip.

"Malfoy," she whispered, lowering her face until it was mere centimeters from his.

"Yes, sex toy?"

"Will you be my boyfriend?"

"Can we have sex right now?"

She shrugged, rubbed her nose against his.

"And tonight, too?" he asked.

She shrugged again, sliding one hand to the hem of his t-shirt.

"You're impossible," he informed her, wriggling to free his arms. "Stubborn," he added, "and stuck up and-"

"Delicious?" she suggested, nipping at his bottom lip. He flipped her over, then, and pinned her arms above her head.

"Yes," he agreed, biting her back. "And entirely mine."

* * *

**A/N**

**Sorry that it has been something close to forever since I last updated. Life has been crazy! I am still working on the next chapter of CYKAS, but I'm just not happy with it.**

**Anyway, let me know what you think :)**

**Thanks!**


	9. This Ain't Lust, I Know This Is Love

**Chapter Nine - This Ain't Lust, I Know This Is Love**

Hermione could not sit still. After an hour of mindless, delectable nonsense with Draco, her brain had begun to function again. The boys had to come to the cabin to hear Draco's supposedly "helpful" information, which meant that they would also be officially meeting the boy that she was in love with. She could feel an anxiety attack coming on.

She had sent Harry a Galleon message ("dinner at my new place. keep an open mind, k?") and was getting ready to go retrieve her two best friends now. She had been corresponding with Harry throughout the past couple of hours. The boys were now aware of the nature of the situation - that Hermione's "mystery lover" had important information - but that did little to ease her nerves.

"You look green," Draco commented. He was lounging on the bed, dressed in jeans and a light grey polo, looking entirely relaxed. "Like literally green," he elaborated. "I'd always thought that was some dramatized description."

"Well," she said, "considering the fact that I'm getting ready to bring my best friends into a house with someone who they consider to be the spawn of Satan, I think my complexion is understandable. I mean, this is kind of a big deal."

"What, afraid I'll embarrass you or say something rude?" he asked, mocking.

"I'm afraid that someone will end up dead."

"Merlin, Hermione, we're all adults aren't we?"

"Generally, yes," she mumbled. "But none of us have a history of getting along. You and I still barely tolerate each other."

"I think we tolerate each other just fine," he said, taking her hand and pulling her down next to him.

"No, no, no," she denied him, standing back up. "I just fixed my hair."

"I like it messy."

"And I like to not be blatantly sexed up by my current plaything when I bring my previous plaything over to meet him. I've got to go. Start dinner, OK? Something nice? I'll be back in thirty minutes tops."

"Don't forget to breath," he said teasingly as he followed her down the stairs. He spun her around when they reached the living room and gave her a goodbye kiss - mussing up her hair a little, just to rile her up.

"A kiss goodbye?" she questioned. "Careful, I might start to think you'll miss me."

"Just getting one last kiss in before Pot Head and Weasel kill you," he quipped, smirking.

"You're despicable," she glared, stepping outside. "Besides, it's you that they'll be killing," she added, smirking right back.

He slammed the door in her face.

* * *

Harry and Ron had packed up camp and were waiting anxiously. Ron began questioning her immediately while Harry sulked quietly beside him.

"I just need you to trust me," she said, interrupting Ron mid-rant. "This isn't easy for me to do, but he has information that we need. I need you both to promise me that you'll give me a chance. This isn't how any of us predicted that it would go. Just trust me, OK? No matter who he ends up being. I need you to trust me."

"So he's someone terrible," Ron inferred.

"He… was," she said, carefully. "He tried to be, at least."

"Oh, so you changed him?" Harry asking, sarcastically.

"No," she said, "I gave him a chance to be something other than what everyone else expected him to be. I can't lie to you, Harry, he's still a bastard. But he's not the monster he tried to be."

"Well I'm convinced so far," Ron snorted.

"Before we go, though, can I speak with Harry alone?" she asked. Ron sighed and walked away from them at a clipped pace, mumbling to himself. Harry turned to her, then, and the look in his eyes made her want to cry. "I just felt that I should warn you about something before we leave," she said.

"More surprises?" he asked, attempting a small laugh.

"I just need to tell you a few things," she said. "Because… there's no easy way to say this, Harry, so I'm just going to tell you. In order to get this information, I'm going to make an Unbreakable Vow to D-" an invisible force cut her off, then, making her choke on the word. She quickly recovered and continued, reminding herself to simply use pronouns, "with him. It's the only way he'll tell us."

"I can't let you do that," Harry shook his head. "If you break the Vow, you'll die!"

"He's making one, too," she told him, "and the Vow he's making will be much more in depth than mine. The Vow isn't the issue, anyway, because I'm going to do it whether you approve or not. The reason I'm telling you about it is that the promise I'm making to him will have an effect on you."

"How?"

She took a breath and averted her eyes before answering quietly. "I'm promising to remain… err… faithful to him…"

"Which means that you can't ever be with me," Harry finished, scowling. "Herms, you can't promise that."

"I love him, Harry," she said, pleading. "He's sacrificing a lot to help us, and this is all that he's asking in return. He wants to be set free from the cabin and he wants me to be faithful to him. If this is all it will take for us to finally have the upper hand in this war, then I am more than willing to sacrifice my rights."

"And what about me?" Harry asked. "What about what I want? What about my feelings, Herms? And what about your feelings for me? I thought you loved me, too."

"Oh, Harry," she whispered. "I do. And if it weren't for him then I think that…" she trailed off and bit her lip. "I know I would be with you, for the rest of eternity, if it weren't for him. But I love him, too, and I want him."

"And you don't want me."

She felt a tear slip down her face. "I don't know what you want me to say," she murmured, taking his hand. "I can't change what my heart wants."

"I'm just asking for a chance, Hermione," Harry said. "A chance to take you on a date or… I don't know, Herms. Just a chance."

"To what, Harry? Get to know me?" she smiled softly at that. "But we already know each other so well. And we've had a chance. Maybe it wasn't a public relationship, but it was as much of a chance as we can have right now."

"And it wasn't enough," he scowled.

"No," she replied, honestly.

"But it was real," he argued, pulling her against him and tilting her chin up. "Remember this?" he asked, bending down to kiss her. "And this?" he kissed her neck and held her close. "Gods, I love you."

She gently guided his head back up from her neck and touched her forehead to his, closing her eyes. "I love you, too, Harry, and I'll never forget you." She kissed him, then, trying to memorize the feel of his mouth and the texture of his hair.

When she finished, she pulled away and dropped her arms.

"You won't change your mind?" he asked, still holding her waist.

"I won't," she confirmed.

"I won't either," he said.

They called Ron back over, then, for there was nothing left to discuss. She pulled her two best friends close to her, instructing them to wrap their arms around her waist. "Hold tight," she ordered. She pulled a portkey out of her pocket, took a deep, shaky, breath, and prepared herself for what was to come.

* * *

Hermione was prepared for screaming and hexes. She was prepared for outrage. She was not prepared for the tense, impenetrable silence. Ron and Harry had been silently fuming since Draco appeared in the doorway. They were seated on the couch now, avoiding eye contact. Draco was sitting in a chair, staying quiet and still. He pulled Hermione to sit on the armrest, draping an arm around her waist.

"You're fucking joking," Ron snarled after glancing at them. "First you choose Harry over me, then the Ferret? He's a murderer!"

"Technically," Draco said, "she chose me first."

Hermione smacked Draco up side the head. "Ron, Harry told us months ago that it was Snape who killed Dumbledore," she said. Ron glared. "Now, we're all adults here," she went on, mimicking Draco's earlier observation, "so let's act like it."

"He must have hexed you into loving him," Harry supplied, keeping his tone even.

"He hexed me, yes," she agreed, "but that's not what caused this. I would get along with him much better if I was under a spell."

"But it's Malfoy, Hermione! You two hate each other."

"We don't like each other much, but I'm all he's got and he's… not so bad."

"I just can't understand," Harry said.

"And you think it makes sense to us?" she asked. "You think I ***want*** to want him? That he's happy about wanting me? I can't explain it or describe it, Harry. I have to accept that despite everything, I do want him. It's illogical and stupid, but it's what I want."

"If you had just given me a chance…" Harry murmured.

"Will the both of you just shut up?" Draco cut in. "There are more important things to discuss."

"I can't believe you think that this bastard cares about you as much as I do," Harry said.

"Fuck it all, Potter!" Draco yelled. "What do you want me to say to convince you? I'm sitting here next to her and putting up with the both of you. Is that not any kind of proof?"

"You have ulterior motives," Harry observed.

"Yes, I want to get out of this cabin," Draco agreed. "I want to clear my name so that I don't have to hide anymore. But I'm willing to make an Unbreakable Vow to Hermione. I'm willing to betray my entire family and offer priceless information to help you lot win this war. I've got nothing left, Potter. I won't go back to where I was, and this is the only way I can move forward."

"So you're using her - manipulating her - so that you can escape," Harry said.

"Merlin," Draco cursed. He leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands for a moment, composing himself. "This is not easy to admit and it's even more difficult to comprehend but I do… I, erm, I do love her. And I do not use that word lightly because I am aware of its implications. No matter how different and difficult she and I both are, we're somehow… supposed to be together.

"She's been impossibly patient and compassionate to me these past months. With the exception of my mother, I cannot think of another person on earth who has cared about me in the way that she has. She's beautiful and kind and infuriatingly perfect and the fact that you two are sitting here, clearly head over heels for her as well, is just more proof of how impossible it is to resist her.

"So, yeah, maybe I'm using her to get out of this goddamn cabin," Draco agreed. "But once I get out, I fully intend on spending the rest of my foreseeable life doing the best that I can to repay her for what she's done for me. I don't know what else you want me to say, Potter. Do you want me to purchase a fucking diamond and put in on her finger?"

"Fuck no," Harry spat. "You've always been a fantastic actor, Malfoy. Who's to say you're not acting now?"

"Didn't you hear the part about an Unbreakable Vow?" Hermione interjected.

"He'll find a way out of it," Harry scoffed.

"Then you can help us draw up the terms," Draco countered. "Both of you can," he directed this to Ron.

"The point is that I am with Draco and that he has information that we need," Hermione summed up, finally recovering from the shock of Draco's speech a few moments ago. Though it meant something to hear him tell her he loved her, it was so much bigger when he expressed those feelings to her best friends. "If we can all just take a step back, and take a few deep breaths, I think that we can figure out a way to make everyone happy in this situation."

"Except for Harry," Ron said. "Either way, you're still going to be fucking Malfoy." Hermione winced.

"Harry gets to save the world," Draco scoffed. "What could be better than that?"

"Not by himself," Ron argued. "Hermione and I will help!"

"But he's the Chosen One, Ronald," Hermione said. "Harry, after the war is over and Voldemort is gone, then you can live a normal life. Isn't that worth it to you?" She crossed the room to sit beside him on the couch, taking one of his clenched hands in hers. "We're talking about saving the entire wizarding world, Harry. At some point, we've got to get over this small hiccup and move on. If we keep spending all of our time arguing about this, we won't even have a chance at the war."

Harry mulled it all over, searching her eyes. He finally unclenched his hand and squeezed his fingers around hers. "OK," he conceded. "But if he hurts you…"

"I wouldn't expect anything less," she smiled, hugging him tightly.

"As touching as this is, we really should move the conversation forward," Draco drawled.

"Right," Hermione agreed. She retreated to sit on the armrest again. "So, where should we begin."

"We should begin with drawing up the terms for the Unbreakable Vow, obviously," Draco said. Hermione's eyes widened.

"Right now?" she squeaked.

"Of course right now," he snorted. "I'm not giving either of you the slightest hint of information until I know that my future is safe."

The anxiety attack that had been threatening to surface all day was now knocking at her door.

* * *

She placed her hand in Draco's nearly two hours later. She registered that his hand was shaking just as much as hers were - and rightfully so. Her mind raced back through the terms of their freshly drawn up Vows again, trying to ensure that there were no loopholes. It was all happening so fast. Just a week ago she was convinced that she would never willingly go to see that blonde bastard again and now here she was, holding hands with him in front of her best friends, getting ready to make an Unbreakable Vow.

She glanced sideways at Harry and felt sick for a moment. Harry. In a few moments, after a few muttered words and a spell, she would never be able to be with Harry ever again. Unless, of course, she wanted to drop dead. The only way she could ever be with Harry was if Draco decided to dissolve their relationship. Since he was vowing to never kiss another woman, though, she highly doubted that that would ever happen. She felt her throat tighten and heard the familiar tachy beat of her heart pounding through her head. Oh, god, Merlin, shit, fuck, hell.

"I think she's going to pass out," Harry observed quietly.

"Granger," Malfoy said gruffly, clenching his fingers around hers and shaking her arm roughly.

"Fuck," she whispered. Her entire body was shaking now and she felt like she was going to be sick. "Oh, fuck. I can't… I can't. Oh, gods."

"I think we need a moment," Malfoy growled at Harry. Harry looked to Hermione for confirmation only to find that her eyes were shut tightly. "Now," Malfoy insisted.

Hermione tried to regulate her breathing while she listened to the boys leave through the front door.

"Talk, Granger," Draco ordered, dropping her hand.

"I can't promise to never be in a relationship again," she said. "It's a ridiculous thing to ask of me. Of anyone, really."

"What are you talking about? You were OK with this just ten minutes ago."

"I just need… I need more," she searched. "I thought I could do this, but I don't think that I can give up relationships. As pathetic as it sounds, I need relationships. I want relationships."

"You've lost me, Granger. You're not making sense. The only thing you're promising is that you won't snog or fuck anyone else."

"Right," she said, "no boyfriends. And no boyfriends means no possibility of marriage or a real future. I'm signing away all of my possibilities."

"You have a boyfriend right now," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"But you're… you."

"And?"

"What if I need more? What if I have a bad day and need consoling? What if I ***want*** a boyfriend who gives me birthday presents? I deserve those things, Malfoy, and I know I can't ask you to change, so I don't know if I can-"

"Shut up, Granger," he drawled. She snapped her jaw together and stared at him. "If this is going to work, we're both going to have to figure out how to compromise. I'm not going to sugar coat anything and I know I'll never be the perfect boyfriend, but I'm fucking trying!

"Do you honestly think that if you came crying to me that I would shut you out? Just because I don't express anything but anger doesn't mean that I'm a total bastard. You… you saved my life, Granger, and if it's that important to you, then I can get you a birthday present. It won't be spectacular or heartfelt, but if you want it, I'll buy you one every year.

"I'm not perfect, Hermione," he said. Her eyes shot up and locked onto his at the mention of her first name. "But I am ready to start moving on. I refuse to turn into my father and I refuse to become like Potter or any of you other goody-goodies, so it will be difficult for me to figure out who I want to be. The point is, though, that I want to be something - someone - different. As long as you're patient with me, I'll try to be someone who is a good boyfriend, OK?"

She bit her lip and cocked her head. "Promise?" she asked. "Promise you'll rub my back when I cry?"

"I promise I'll rub your back when you cry," he repeated, pulling her to him.

"Promise you'll give me birthday presents?"

"Every year," he swore.

"Then OK," she nodded, "I can do this."

* * *

Hermione took a deep breath and rubbed her thumb across Draco's hand. Harry placed the tip of his wand on their joined hands. She glanced down at the paper in her other hand and began to read. "Will you share all of the information that you possess about Lord Voldemort, his plans for the war, and his horcruxes with everyone in this room?"

"I will," he answered. They both flinched in surprise as a rope of fire wound its way around their hands.

"Will you promise remain loyal to me above all others - including yourself?"

"I will," he swore. Another rope of fire appeared.

"Will you promise to never partake in physical pleasures with anyone other than me for the remainder of your life?"

"I will," he said, nodding once as the a third rope of fire twisted around their hands, swirling around with the other two for a few moments before all three of them disappeared. Hermione handed the paper to Draco, then, and prepared herself to answer his questions.

"Hermione," he began, locking eyes with her for a moment, "will you retrieve Severus Snape to assure my freedom from this cabin immediately following this ceremony?"

"I will," she nodded.

"Will you promise to make fair decisions regarding our future?"

"I will," she said.

"And will you promise to never partake in physical pleasures with anyone other than me for the remainder of our committed relationship?"

"I will," she swore. It had taken everything in her to not glance at Harry before answering that last question. It was his idea, after all, to change that specific term of the Vow: "for the remainder of our committed relationship." The relationship would have to be formally and adequately dissolved by both parties in order for her to be allowed to be with anyone else.

As she watched the three ropes of fire from this second Vow disappear, she felt strangely at ease.

It was finished.

* * *

It was nearly two am when the small group of teenagers finally recognized their exhaustion. Hermione had retrieved Snape mere moments after their ceremony. He had been displeased, to say the least, but undid the spell on Draco anyway. When he left - just a few short minutes after his angry arrival - he wished Hermione a sarcastic good luck and asked that they not "do anything else stupid for the remainder of the day."

After Snape left, they gathered in the small living room and gave Draco the spotlight. his top secret, elite information had been exactly what the trio needed. He not only knew where all of the remaining horcruxes were, but he also provided them with detailed information about each and every Death Eater. Hermione had recorded every fact and figure diligently. By the end of the night, there were papers strewn all over the cabin floor and Hermione's hand was aching.

"You two should stay here," Hermione suggested as she gathered up her notes.

"'Mione I-" Harry began.

"It's perfectly safe," she interrupted. "Snape made sure that no one would be able to locate this spot. I can transfigure this furniture into a bed and we can get up after a few hours of sleep to finish planning everything else."

"I'm not going to stay here with him," Ron said, staring pointedly at Draco.

"She's right, though," Harry said. "This would be a safe place to stay tonight. There's no sense going somewhere else and taking the time to set up camp and put up wards. We'll be leaving in the morning anyway."

Ron crossed his arms and leaned back into the couch. He stood up a moment later, watching as she transfigured the chair and the couch into two full sized beds. No one said another word until Hermione and Draco walked towards the stairway.

"Wait," Ron called, "where are you going, 'Mione?"

"She's sleeping upstairs with me," Draco said, placing a protective hand on the small of her back. "It's what she's been doing for months now."

"Yeah, except for when she was sleeping with Harry," Ron laughed. "It doesn't mean that I want to see it," he said, adding "or hear it, either," a moment later.

"We're just sleeping," Hermione assured him. Draco shot her a look and she ignored him. She walked across the room, hugging Ron first and then Harry. "I'll see you both in the morning," she promised. "Good night."

* * *

Hermione and Draco got ready for bed in silence. She pulled on a t-shirt from one of his drawers and took her hair out of the bun it had been in all day. When she turned around, he was holding her wand. She froze in place, shooting him a questioning look.

"Silencio," he whispered. He tossed the wand across the room to her, letting her catch it before he strolled lazily towards her.

"It's late," she said, shivering involuntarily when he slid his hand up her arm to the back of her neck.

"I'm not tired," he said, bending low to kiss her neck. "Very, very awake."

"I can see that," she said, glancing downwards. "But-"

"Forget about them," Draco said, kissing her forehead. "They can't hear us anyway. It's been a long day and I behaved for the duration of it. I deserve a reward."

"Malfoy," she protested, but he was already backing towards the bed, pulling her with him. When his calves hit the edge of the mattress, he fell backwards, tugging her on top of him. "Malfoy," she repeated, rolling off of him.

"Yes, Granger?" he asked, rolling onto his side and pulling her flush against him.

"It doesn't feel right," she said. "I felt bad enough doing it when Harry wasn't here."

"I thought we discussed this," he said, inching her t-shirt up over her hip. "Remember? The deal was that I wouldn't betray you and that you, in return, would be wholly responsible for satisfying my libido. It needs satisfying, Granger."

"Those were not the exact terms," she shook her head. "I promised to be faithful to you. That doesn't mean that I'm required to have sex with you whenever you want it. Besides, what if the silencing spell didn't work?"

He sat up abruptly, frightening her, and yelled Potter's name at the top of his lungs. They both waited a few moments and then Draco looked down at her, smirking.

"Point proven," she conceded. "But I just don't feel up to it tonight. Not with them both just a few feet away and-"

"Not in the mood?" he interpreted. "I can fix that."

She didn't have time to protest. He pushed her onto her back, fixing his mouth against hers as he slid one hand lightly across her stomach and between her legs. She mumbled in protest against his lips but contradicted herself in the next second by moaning and tugging at his hair. She was breathing heavily when he moved his lips to her neck while continuing to tease her with a feather-soft touch.

"Gods, Malfoy," she whispered, biting her lip.

"In the mood now?" he asked. He smirked as wriggled beneath him, pressing her hips upwards.

"I really hate you," she murmured, pushing a hand up under his shirt. She realized, then, just how cold she was - and how impossibly warm he was. She tugged his shirt over his head and helped him take her own off before pulling him on top of her. She sighed happily and wrapped her arms tightly around him, absorbing as much of his heat as she could.

"You're freezing," he said while unhooking her bra.

"You're not," she hummed, pressing up against him. "You should share your body heat."

"I'll share a lot more than that," he promised, returning to his earlier tasks. She pressed her face against his warm neck, kissing him once before biting lightly. He groaned and countered by slipping her underwear down her thighs. "I want you," he demanded.

"I suppose we should make tonight count," she agreed, slipping a few fingers into the band of his boxers. All of his ministrations came to an abrupt halt. "Malfoy?" she asked, an unintentional whine to her voice. She tugged at his waistband.

"You're going with them, aren't you?" he asked. His voice was gruff.

"What did you think was going to happen?" she asked, confused.

"You're going to leave me here in this cabin," he stated. "Again."

"I'm not leaving you here," she told him, scooting up to sit beside him and pulling the blankets up to her shoulders. "But I'm going to have to leave you somewhere. I can't take you with me. You'll have to stay with some of the Order members until we get back."

"Right," he sneered, "because I'll be able to survive a few days in a house full of people who hate my fucking guts."

"This was your plan, Malfoy," she reminded him. "Unbreakable Vow? Going to the Order for protection? You came up with this."

"But I thought you'd be staying with me, not running off with Pot Head and the Weasel to save the world while I fight off Order members."

"They're not going to do anything to you now that you've made an Unbreakable Vow to me," she said. She moved to sit on his lap, straddling him and wrapping her arms around his torso. "It will only take us a day or two at most to get all of the horcruxes what with all of the information that you gave us. Once we have the horcruxes, the war is ours. Once the war is over, you'll be free. This was all your idea, Malfoy. Remember? I don't understand why you're so upset about this."

"Because I fucking assumed that you would stay with me after all that I've given you," he sneered. "I gave you every speck of information that I had. I have nothing left to use for leverage, Granger, and all I'm asking in return is that you stay with me."

"It's just a few days," she repeated, leaning forward to nestle her face against his neck.

"And what if you die in the war, Granger? What happens then?"

"The Order members will take care of you."

"They will not," he disagreed. "Not unless I make a Vow to one of them. If you're dead, I'm loyal to no one. Stay with me."

"I can't," she shook her head.

"Then let me go with you," he ordered. "I'm not staying here and I am not going to stay somewhere in a house with any fucking Weasleys and Order members unless you're there. You won't stay with me, so the only option left is for you to take me with you."

"Everyone is looking for you, Malfoy," she said. "They think you killed Dumbledore. That's what Snape told the Dark Lord, isn't it? That's why he's got you in hiding."

"Then I'll stay in the tent if you're going someplace public. You Vowed that you would make fair decisions about our future and I don't think that you're being fair about this. We need to compromise, remember?"

"What we need to do is keep you safe," she corrected. "I think you'll be safer with the Order."

"And I disagree. Besides, what's the real difference between hiding me in a tent in the middle of nowhere and hiding me in a safe house?"

She bit her lip and closed her eyes. He was impossible and infuriating. And he was right.

"Fine," she said. "It's your life, I suppose."

"You're a saint, Granger," he said, huskily, pulling her down into a kiss.

"And you're a spoiled bastard," she told him. "You're not always going to get your way, Malfoy."

"Only when it counts," he smirked, flipping her over.

He spent the next hour thoroughly rewarding her - three times over - for her superb compromising skills, and thanking Merlin for the "silencio" spell.

**A/N**

**So, it's been a small chunk of forever since I last updated. I've got excuses, but they're probably not worth listening to ;) I'd love to pick up more reviews on this story, though. I really enjoy writing it, but it's difficult to stay motivated when I'm generating such a small amount of support. I really - REALLY! - am still working on the next chapter of Can You Keep A Secret, too, but it's taking forever, so I apologize for that, too.**

**Anyway, reviews would be wonderful! Good, bad, happy, sad, I don't care! Any kind of feedback will do :) **

**3 **


	10. Cause In My Castle I'm The Freaking Man

**Chapter Ten - 'Cause In My Castle I'm The Freaking Man**

Draco had no idea how to set up a tent. Harry and Ron were entirely peeved about having 'the bastard' with them, so they were currently stomping around the perimeter of their newest campsite, muttering protective spells. That left Draco and Hermione with the tent. He had stolen her wand - after she refused to simply say the spell, intending to watch the humor that would ensue if he attempted to put it up by hand - and was now pacing angrily back and forth, trying to remember the necessary words and wand movements to make 'the damn thing' go up.

"What the hell!" Ron proclaimed as he walked back to them. "Why's the tent still down?"

Hermione and Draco immediately started blaming each other. Harry sighed, muttering the spell himself which effectively silenced them both.

"I don't see how you can be asking us to put up with him when you can't even stand him," Ron said, crossing his arms.

"I didn't ask you to put up with him, Ronald," Hermione said. "I only asked that you not kill him."

"I haven't done anything," Draco drawled, looking annoyed. "It's not my bloody fault that Snape didn't return my wand to me or that I can't remember the damn spell for putting up a tent. It's not like I usually sleep in the woods, you know."

"He does make a good point," Harry sighed.

"Oh, so it's me that's the problem now?" Hermione asked.

"Gods, 'Mione, calm down," Harry put his hands out. "I think we're all just a little bit hungry. We probably should have eaten breakfast before we decided to apparate to the middle of nowhere and go traipsing around in a random forest for a few hours."

"Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty," Draco commented. Hermione rolled her eyes. "So who makes dinner?"

"We have a rotating schedule," Hermione told him. "Although I'm not entirely sure who's night it is since-"

"Since you betrayed us to go sleep at the Ferret's woodland cottage," Ron supplied, grinning proudly at himself.

"Well, we should just start a new schedule," Hermione said. "We'll each take a day, as we had been doing, I suppose. I guess I'll take today and then Draco can have tomorrow. You and Harry can fight over who comes next in the rotation."

"Wait a minute," Ron said, "we're supposed to just trust The Ferret to make our dinner?"

"He's a really good cook," she assured him.

"Well, I don't trust him any further than I can throw him," Ron said, adding, "and Merlin knows that's not very far. He's not the smallest bloke."

"Ah, criticizing my weight now, Weasel?" Draco asked.

"You're very tall, Malfoy," Hermione said. "That's all he meant. If you two really have a problem trusting Malfoy with your food, then he'll be on my rotation. Agreed?" Harry shrugged and Ron sighed and nodded. "Fine. Dinner will be on the table in twenty minutes."

She marched through the door of the tent, past the dinning room and into the kitchen where she started shuffling things around. Draco stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her cautiously. Though she was usually somewhat frustrated while she was around him, it was obvious that the combination of Draco, Ron, and Harry was doing terrible things for her mood.

"What do you want me to do?" Draco asked after a few minutes.

"I want you to behave," she grumbled, dropping a stack of kitchenware on the counter.

"I meant to help you cook."

"Oh." Her cheeks reddened slightly and she ran a finger through her curls. "Umm."

"What are we making?"

"Haven't the foggiest."

"Spaghetti."

"Why?"

"It's food, it's easy, and it's my favorite," he supplied.

"Spaghetti is your favorite food?" she cocked her head to one side. "Why didn't you ever tell me that? Why do you never tell me anything at-"

"Granger," he took a step forward and put a finger over her lips. "Just stop. This entire situation is one massive cluster fuck and there is nothing that you can do to make it better. What you can do, however, is stop micromanaging everything. Well, and make some spaghetti. It would help everyone's moods if we ate."

"But-"

"Yeah," he interrupted her again, placing his hands on her shoulders, "Weasel is being an insufferable git and Pot Head is kind of mopey and ridiculous and… well, I honestly don't think I've done anything-"

"Except exist," she muttered.

"-terrible yet today," he finished, glaring only a little bit at her comment. "You can't fix any of it, though, and being an anxiety ridden, nutty bat is not helping us at all. So, focus your attention on making spaghetti because it's really the only thing in the entire universe that you can control right now."

He gave her shoulders a comforting squeeze, then.

"Was that supposed to be helpful?" she asked. "Because telling me that I have no control over anything at all is not-"

In a mere second he swept her off of her feet and carried her bridal style into the living room of the tent. Ron and Harry looked up at them as he walked in and watched as Draco deposited her onto the couch.

"I'm making spaghetti for dinner," he announced. "If you choose not to eat it, then that is your prerogative, but I am making some fucking spaghetti. If she tries to walk back into the kitchen, stun her."

After taking Ron and Harry's confused - and slightly amused - expressions as acceptance, he strode purposefully back into the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later they all gathered around the dinning room table and ate the best spaghetti any of them had ever tasted - in complete silence.

* * *

Draco's spaghetti managed to make all four of the grumpy teenagers a little bit more happy. After dinner, Hermione located a container of ice cream that she had been saving. She divvied it up into four separate bowls and they gathered in the living room to discuss their plans over a creamy desert.

Draco had revealed that the horcruxes were: Tom Riddle's Diary (which was destroyed), Marvolo Gaunt's Ring (which Dumbledore had destroyed), Helga Hufflepuff's Cup, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem, Salazar Slytherin's Locket, Nagini (Voldemort's Snake), and Harry himself.

"So, two of them are currently destroyed, and we might know where one of them is," Hermione summed up. "Well, we know where Harry is, also, but we can't quite destroy The Chosen One."

"Wait, you know where one is?" Draco asked. "Why haven't you destroyed it?"

"Haven't figured out how to get it," Ron answered through a mouth full of ice cream.

"We're mostly positive that Dolores Umbridge has it," Hermione said. "We've been trying to figure out how to get it from her. She works at the Ministry, so the most probable solution would be to use the Polyjuice potion to sneak into the Ministry and take it from her."

"Sounds logical," he nodded. "When do we do it?"

"First of all," Harry spoke up, "You are not doing anything. If and when we go to the Ministry, it will only be Ron, Hermione, and me going. You, Malfoy, are a fugitive wanted by both the good and bad sides of this war."

"But we'd be using Polyjuice, Potter," Draco said, a bit too condescendingly. "No one would be able to tell that it was me."

"Until it wears off," Harry said.

"There are ways to prevent that," Draco said. "Like drinking more of it. We'd have a better chance at getting the locket if four of us go in, anyway."

"Not necessarily," Hermione said. "That's four different people that could be found out instead of simply three. And, besides, what if we all get caught? Who's going to continue the search and destroy mission if we're all caught?"

"You were all planning to go before," Draco scoffed. "It's a damn good thing I'm here. I've just found a hole in your plan. Someone has to stay in case you get caught while infiltrating the Ministry."

"And we can't leave Malfoy by himself," Ron pointed out. "So Herms should stay at camp with him while Harry and I get the locket."

Hermione squawked in disagreement just as Harry and Draco voiced their agreement.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione," Harry said, "but Malfoy makes a valid point. If Ron and I get caught, someone needs to continue the mission and we can't trust Malfoy to do it."

"Why can't we leave Ron with him?" Hermione asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep an obnoxious whine out of her voice.

"Because you're the entire reason that he's here," Ron snorted.

"And I refuse to stay in a tent with only Weasel," Draco added.

"So, it's decided," Harry stated. "Ron and I will infiltrate the ministry."

* * *

The next month was spent preparing the boys for their mission. Hermione was frustrated - several times - that the preparations were taking so long, but there was no faster way to brew a Polyjuice potion. Fortunately, the lengthy waiting period gave them an ample amount of time to secretly stake out the ministry and decide who they should disguise themselves as. It was eventually decided that Harry should go in as Albert Runcorn and that Ron would pose as Reginald Cattermole.

So, on the second day of September, after weeks of waiting and preparing, Harry and Ron left the campsite. Hermione was a bundle of nerves the moment that they disappeared from her sight. She paced anxiously around the living room in the tent, focusing on breathing in a calm, collected manner.

Draco had been yelled at far too many times in the past month to try to intervene during her anxiety-induced pacing. The general attitude at the campsite had not improved much since the night of Draco's arrival and it did not seem that it would be improving any time soon. To his credit, though, he was generally not in the middle of the spats. It would pain Hermione or the boys to admit this, but Draco had been the most well behaved of the lot of them.

Because of his proficiency in potions, it had been decided that Draco and Hermione would be entirely responsible for the brewing of the Polyjuice potion. In addition to that responsibility, he also fully participated in the rotating chores and meal duties every day. The Golden Trio had been far too busy bickering amongst themselves to really take notice of his unusual compliance, though.

After standing beside Hermione to see the boys off, he had stretched out across the cushiony couch, leisurely reading a book and paying no attention to the curly-haired freak show pacing around in front of him. When she started mumbling to herself, however, he finally snapped his book shut and slammed it on the table.

"Damn it all, Granger," he grumbled, crossing the room in one stride and halting her - mid-step - with a firm shake. "You're going nutters."

"They're going to get caught," she said, sounding very much like a mental case.

"They're going to be fine," he said. "Come lay on the couch."

"I can't sit down!" she announced, flinging her arms out to the side as if that would help to demonstrate the magnitude of her anxiety.

"I didn't say sit," he replied, condescendingly. "I said lay."

"That's even worse," she crossed her arms.

"You don't have an option. You need to think about something else." He guided her over to the couch.

"I was thinking about breathing."

"You looked like a fucking psycho," he commented, settling himself back into the couch and tugging on her hand.

"I hope they remember to drink the Polyjuice potion," she said, mostly to herself. He gave her arm another tug and knocked her off balance. She fell down clumsily and he let out an oof of air as her small frame crushed up against his chest. "I hope they don't get caught."

"They won't get caught," he said. She adjusted herself so that she was wedged in between the back of the couch and his side. "And, anyway, I'm the one that you should be concerned about."

She snorted and inquired for further information.

"Well, first of all, I've got you for a girlfriend," he began. She rolled her eyes. "And secondly, my girlfriend has refused to have sex with me for nearly two weeks."

"It's not been two weeks."

"It's been at least that," he assured her.

"I've been busy with my research," she shrugged.

"Some of us have needs."

"Some of us should learn to be patient."

"I waited two weeks!" he exclaimed. "I need sex, Granger. I'm not going to wait until the bloody war is over to fuck you again."

"Merlin," she sighed in annoyance. "Well, then, just undress me now and have your way if that's all you - ooh!"

He had her flipped onto her back in mere moments and was pulling her jumper up over her head. "How's this for a distraction?" he asked, kissing her neck. "Anxious now?"

"Malfoy - gods! - what if they come back in the - oh, Merlin! - middle of this?" she asked.

"Don't worry, I'll be quick," he promised, adding, "and efficient," after a moment of thought. He gave her earlobe a nip before working his way down to her collarbone, taking his time to kiss her. She was already wriggling beneath him and breathing heavily. When he pulled down the neckline of her tank top and kissed her sternum, she arched her back up impatiently; he smirked.

She tried several times to convince him to 'hurry up,' but her insistence only succeeded in making him take even longer than he had intended to. It was several grueling minutes before he finally took her tank top off and he spent plenty of time locating each of the sensitive spots on her abdomen before he unhooked her bra.

When he started to unbutton her jeans, she finally regained enough sense to try to rid him of his clothes. He responded by slapping her hands away and grinning up at her mischievously.

"You're a bastard," she said, biting her lip. He tossed her jeans onto the ground and kissed her hipbone. "Just take them off already, would you? Gods."

"Isn't patience supposed to be some kind of virtue?" he asked, licking a light trail from her hip all of the way up to her ear.

"Git," she moaned, jerking his face to hers and kissing him hard. "Come on, Malfoy," she all but whined, "I want you."

"You made me wait," he said, "so it's only fair that you do a little waiting yourself."

"I wasn't getting any sex the last two weeks either."

"But you didn't want it."

"Quit playing games with me," she demanded. She shivered when he slid his hand into her underwear. "Please," she said.

"Take my clothes off," he ordered. He smirked at her immediate obedience and helped her pull his shirt off before returning his hand to its previous focal point. She tried at least three times to unbutton his jeans, but failed because of what his fingers were doing inside of her. She finally managed to undo the button and unzip his pants. She used her hands to clumsily - hurriedly - push both his jeans and his boxers down in one fell swoop and used her feet to take them the rest of the way off.

"Please," she repeated, bucking her hips against his hand and reaching down to do some torture of her own. She accurately mimicked his smirk as he groaned.

In just a few movements he had her underwear off. He sat up, then, taking her with him and arranging her on his lap. After a few adjustments, she slid down on top of him with a happy sigh.

"I don't know how to do this," she admitted, biting her lip.

"Stop doing that," he growled. He ran his thumb across her lip and she stopped. "Just do whatever feels natural," he instructed.

She was nervous at first, but after a few calculated movements she discovered that this positioning definitely had its benefits. She shut her brain off, then, at let her body take over. It wasn't long before they were both moaning. She wrapped her arms around him and dug her nails into his back as he gripped her hips hard.

A few moments later it was over. She collapsed against him, breathing heavily and wondering why it was that she had waited two weeks to have sex with him.

"Wow," she said.

"Mmm," he agreed. He kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer. She suddenly remembered that she had completely forgotten to cast a contraceptive charm. She bent backwards and located her wand in the pile of clothes. She whispered the charm and conjured them a blanket, wrapping it around herself as she settled back against his chest.

"Maybe you're not entirely a bastard," she said.

"Oh, I am," he said. "I'm just really good at sex."

"Hey, I did most of the work that time," she insisted.

"Mmm, yes you did. You deserve a nap."

She was surprised to find that she was actually tired. She gave him a little squeeze and closed her eyes. A few breaths later, she drifted away into a happy dream, smiling lightly in her sleep.

* * *

Ron was at a place beyond disgusted when he walked proudly into the living room - still looking a bit like Reginald Cattermole - to find the naked couple barely covered up by a dark blue blanket. They were laying side-by-side and spooning. Were it not for Draco's strategically placed arm, Ron would have gotten a full - and, admittedly, desired - look at Hermione's breasts.

"Oh, fuck, my eyes!" he yelled. He covered his eyes and backed out of the room, running into Harry. Harry was momentarily pissed off about being stepped on. Once he saw the slowly waking couple, though, he was irate.

"On the couch?" he asked. Hermione rubbed her eyes and Draco nuzzled into the back of her neck, oblivious.

Hermione mumbled something incoherent and rubbed her eyes some more. And then she was able to see who was standing five feet away from her. "Fuck!" she yelled, pulling the blanket up. "Oh, fuck, you're back!"

"You have two minutes to get dressed," Harry said. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

* * *

"Just to be clear," Harry said, "I do not want to have a discussion about what just happened."

"Good," Draco mumbled. Hermione slapped his arm.

"How did it go?" she asked. They were sitting in the kitchen now - Ron had declared that the living room would need to be scourgified before he would step foot in it again - and drinking coffee.

Harry pulled the locket out of his pocket and dropped it on the table.

"You should be careful with that," Draco warned.

"We're going to try to break it anyway," Harry scoffed.

"No," he shook his head, "I mean, you shouldn't let anyone keep it on their person for more than a day. It's got some sort of strange effect on it and it will supposedly mess with your head."

"So I'll keep it for the rest of the day," Harry said, "and then we'll pass it around until we figure out how to destroy it."

"It's not hard to destroy," Draco said. "You just need Basilisk venom."

"Oh, right, and that's easy to come by in the middle of nowhere," Ron said sarcastically. "I don't see any huge snakes around here, do you?"

"What did Dumbledore use to destroy the ring?" Hermione asked Harry. A look of comprehension spread across his face.

"Godric Gryffindor's sword," Harry announced.

"Bellatrix has that sword in her vault," Draco said.

"Which is where the Helga Hufflepuff's goblet is, too, right?" Hermione asked. Draco nodded. "Do you have any way of accessing her vault?"

"No," he shook his head. "We'll have to find some other way to get in."

"What about the diadem?" Hermione asked. "Is there anyway to get to that?"

"I don't know where that one is," Draco admitted.

"We could check Hogwarts," Harry suggested.

"We need to be sure of it's location before we decide to show our faces anywhere," Hermione said. "Maybe we should just focus on getting into the vault for now."

* * *

Harry caught Hermione's arm as she was headed off to bed a few hours later. She motioned for Draco to go ahead when he turned around to locate her. He rolled his eyes but obeyed, fastening the canvas door to their bedroom behind himself.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she apologized as soon as both Ron and Draco were in their rooms.

"I'm sorry that I overreacted," Harry said. "I guess it just… it will take a lot of getting used to."

"I know, I know," she assured him. "I honestly didn't intend to rub it in your face like that, Harry. I'm trying to be respectful of your feelings. I know it's not easy to live with him."

"That's the thing, though," Harry said, "he doesn't quite seem like himself anymore, does he? He's less… Malfoy."

"He's less Malfoy, I suppose," she agreed, "but he's no less of a selfish, arrogant prick."

"Well, none of us have been easy to get along with recently."

"No," she agreed, "I guess we haven't. And I guess he could be worse. But what are you trying to say?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I just… I've just missed talking to you. We've all been so focused and nervous for the past month. Everyone's been angry and tense and I just wanted to talk to you for a few minutes now that we've accomplished something. I really think that we're going to get through this, 'Mione."

"I do, too," she agreed, smiling. "Gods, I never thought I'd say that, but I really do think that we have a chance at this war."

"And it's all thanks to you," Harry said.

"Thanks to Draco," she corrected him.

"No," he shook his head. "He would have never given us the information if it weren't for the way that he feels about you. You certainly didn't rehabilitate him or remove any Malfoy-esque demons from him, but you sure did something. We all owe this success to you, for caring about him."

"We've been successful because of everyone in this tent," she said adamantly. "We're all playing a big part in this plan. Draco included."

"Well, whatever and whoever the reason, I'm glad I'll get to continue growing old with my two best mates."

"Me too, Harry." She hugged him then and rubbed his back. "See you in the morning, then?"

"In the morning," he agreed.

As she watched him retreat into his room she was faced with memories of a time not too long ago when she would have followed behind him. Instead of doing that, though, she turned to go into her own bedroom.

Draco was waiting as patiently as a Malfoy can wait. He was stretched out along her bed, wearing only a pair of bright red boxers that looked somewhat hilarious against his pale skin.

"You have far too many clothes to get onto this bed," he told her when she tried to sit down. "You're going to have to remedy that."

She rolled her eyes and complied, taking off her jeans and her jumper. "Good enough?" she asked.

"The tank top, too," he said, flicking his fingers at her.

"I think I'll keep it on," she shrugged, laying down beside him. He rolled on top of her and playfully nipped the end of her nose before reaching down to the ground and locating her wand. He muttered a silencing spell and then pointed the wand at her stomach and muttered the contraceptive charm. She briefly considered telling him that he was getting a little ahead of himself, but decided against that when his pelvis connected with hers just right.

"You're a cocky bastard," she said, kissing his nose.

"You want me anyway."

"Always," she agreed. "Well, except for last week."

"It's all forgiven," he assured her. "As long as we can make up for it this week."

And that was precisely what they set out to do.

Afterwards, she laid on her back and he laid on his stomach, draping himself across her and nuzzling his face into her neck.

"I love you," she murmured, kissing the top of his head.

"I love you, too, Granger."

**A/N**

**Hey, look! It wasn't an entire month this time! I'm trying to move forward in the plot a little bit. I'm not sure if all of the horcrux stuff is correct but whatever. I did my best, lol. It's all going to be just slightly different since Draco is thrown into the mix, but I'm trying to stay close-ish to the events in the book. **

**On another note: thank you so much for all of the reviews! I tried to respond to each of them, but I kind of lost track and I might have missed someone. So, thank you thank you thank you!**

**Until next time,**

**- Rose**


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